


The Measure of Affection

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Season/ Series 02, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 90,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Ros Williams</p><p>"We should measure affection, not like youngsters by the ardour of its passion, but by its strength and constancy" - Cicero.</p><p>Remember Carnell, the blue-eyed psychostrategist from 'Weapon'?  Suppose his plans were deeper and more complex  than Servalan ever realised.  Suppose that he met Avon.  Suppose they fell in love...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. OFT ARE STRATAGEMS

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
>  **Original Author's Note:**  
>  I've always said this could never happen to Avon and it wasn't at all what I intended when I started out on this tale, but the plot crept up on me and then refused to go away. So don't take too seriously my liberties with the personalities of Avon, Blake, Carnell and others.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Chris Boucher and Scott Fredericks, without whose original inspirations it could never have been written. Apologies are due to Chris for my various quotations in Part I from the episode Weapon.

## PART I - OFT ARE STRATAGEMS

Those oft are stratagems which errors seem

 

Alexander Pope

 

### CHAPTER ONE

"Now that," said Servalan, Supreme Commander of the Terran Federation's Fleet, to Space Commander Travis, "was not amusing...not amusing at all." She frowned angrily as she paced along the sandy beach with Travis trailing rather disconsolately behind her. "You're in trouble - you know that, don't you? You seem to be making a habit of failing, Travis."

Travis shrugged. There was little point in arguing with the Supreme Commander at the best of times and he had no doubt that if he so much as muttered a word of protest now she'd rake him with insults. He was used to it, used to her habit of avoiding responsibility for any disaster, no matter how small.

The most galling thing was losing Blake again. Travis didn't care too much about Orac - it was Servalan who'd wanted Orac and Travis would never have been allowed to use it even if, with it, he could have seized Blake once and for all.

Servalan suddenly stopped walking and turned on him. "I've had enough of leaving you to your own devices," she snarled. "I'm organising the next trap - the last trap, you may be sure - and you'll obey orders to the letter."

 _I always do,_ he thought bitterly. But there, you couldn't expect Servalan to be consistent - or honest. And this last 'trap' hadn't been his idea either. Servalan had masterminded the whole thing, and had failed. Perhaps she'd just been too greedy?

"We're going to kill Blake once and for all," Servalan said viciously. Glaring at Travis's impassive face, she was tempted to hit him: all it needed was one careless word from him. But the word did not come and after a moment she walked on. "Call the ship and tell them to send a transporter," she snapped over her shoulder to Travis. "I've had enough of walking on this God-forsaken seashore."

Travis forbore, wisely, to mention that God no longer existed.

Back at Space Command, Servalan went through the reports and correspondence awaiting her and was pleased to see that all had been running smoothly. Most of the paperwork was vaguely interesting but not important, except for one item from the Weapons Research Base. A new weapon was always an event to savour, for Servalan had a definite weakness for discovering new forms of attack against her enemies and the Base's latest weapon was definitely original. Her eyes narrowed as she read the report. A gem of an idea was creeping through her mind...  **Was it possible** , that was the vital question.

The weapon had a unique feature: when it was fired, it did not kill. Instead, it marked the victim, delivering a lethal potential to the molecular structure of the part it hit, so that when the actual trigger was activated...at any time the aggressor so chose, so long as the victim was in range...the victim would die. And the really delightful thing about it all was that the victim could be blackmailed, kept in fear of his life, for as long as the weapon's owner chose. Oh yes, Servalan thought, it was a fitting weapon for any leader.

Or...not any leader. Preferably one leader. Preferably for Supreme Commander Servalan. And preferably with no-one else knowing she'd got it.

She could use it on anyone she chose, hold them to ransom... The more she thought about it, the more enticing it seemed. Yes, Servalan thought, this was something she just had to have, and when Servalan really wanted something, she'd move all the stars in the Universe, as the saying went, to get it.

Then there was the matter of Blake, and Travis's failures. Something would have to be done about Blake for High Council were getting restive. They knew nothing about the Orac business, of course...and there was another thing she'd dearly wanted, and lost. Blake would pay for that with his life, and that friend of his...Avon...would pay too.

He was a handsome man, Kerr Avon; ruthless - she suspected - and ruthless men appealed to Servalan so long as they were on her side. The problem was that this man was not on her side. If she could have got at him for long enough, she could have held him, she had no doubt of that, but the chance of getting at him was remote unless she could capture him. The thought of holding him helpless intrigued her, and the thought of lying with him was a delightful fantasy - but one must be practical. The man was an enemy, too well known to High Council. Lust was all very well, but High Council wanted him eliminated and Servalan was not sufficiently powerful - yet - to defy High Council, so she must regretfully put aside any fancies for Kerr Avon. There were many other handsome men in the galaxy, many who'd fall at her feet without hesitation. She had no need to expend any of her time on one who was not available. Blake was more important than Avon.

One idea inevitably led to another. Would it be possible to seize the weapon and use it on Blake? How amusing it would be if Blake were to realise he was at her mercy. How amusing to be able to kill him whenever she chose...and how incredibly amusing to wield that same power over Kerr Avon. How would Avon look at her when he knew that his days were numbered, inevitably and irrevocably, according to her whim? Ah - that would be the best moment of all.

To accomplish all this, the trap was going to have to be exceptional. Even Servalan herself could not see how to do it. There was only one recourse now, one that she'd feared to use in the past for the risks were great and the strategist she'd use would be independent of Space Command, a law unto himself; answerably only, and then loosely, to his own mysterious, secretive organisation which infiltrated the Federation yet was never under its control. It was no threat to the Federation. On the contrary, it was usually a benefit; but its methods were based on an inexact science and it chose its clients most carefully.

But would the organisation dare to refuse Supreme Commander Servalan? Servalan doubted it, for she was surely powerful enough to defy it - destroy it - if she so chose. Servalan would seize the organisation in her vice-like grip and insist on having its best strategist assigned to her...come what may.

She reached for her console communicator. "Get me High Councillor Gort," she said.

As Director of the Institute for Psychostrategic Studies, Gort was a powerful man, and that influence had led him to High Councillorship. He was also a friend...to a degree...of Supreme Commander Servalan and happy to talk to her on general matters. When it came to his Institute, he was a little less forthcoming, as Servalan soon discovered.

"Ma'am," he said, "we are not a political organisation."

"Aren't you? You are a politician, Gort."

"My hobby, Ma'am, no more; a pastime that's good for my psyche, a relaxation from my profession..."

Servalan raised her eyebrows. "A stressful relaxation, surely?"

"That's a contradiction in terms, Ma'am. Still, you aren't interested in my amusements, are you?"

"Not in the least," Servalan replied disarmingly. "I'm interested in your Institute, as I told you; and specifically in commissioning from you a strategy...to catch Blake."

"Ah...now that might be interesting." Gort smiled, but warily.

"So...?" Servalan frowned. Why was the man hesitating?

"What do you want me to say, Ma'am?" he asked her, disguising his unease. It was one thing to admire Servalan, but quite another to work with her. He knew only too well her inclination to blame others for her faults. One error on her part in some plan his Institute put forward and the whole Institute would be discredited. He had no desire whatsoever to co-operate with her.

"Let's stop beating about the bush, Gort," she said sharply, losing patience with his prevarications. "I want your best strategist, I want him now, I want him entirely at my disposal until Blake is taken...and I want the utmost discretion. No-one...no-one, Gort...is to know that I am employing you, let alone why. Is that clearly understood?"

"It is understood, Ma'am," Gort said, rather coldly. He did not take kindly to threats. No doubt he'd be hard put to get out of this dilemma. There were times when strategy might just dictate a graceful acceptance of a trying situation. "I will make the necessary arrangements..."

"One thing more," she said. "You'll not pick and choose. There's a man I want."

"Ah?" He might have known it. She'd so often, Servalan would, allow herself to be influenced by some sensual fancy: it was one of her prime failings. She did not go in for love. Servalan was one of the hardest women he'd ever encountered; but there was cold of the heart (to put it fancifully) and cold of the body (to put it crudely), and in the latter Servalan was as hot as they came. She'd get the strategist she wanted...it was not politic to refuse her...and have her fun as well if she could.

Of course, there was one thing she would not have bargained for since she was not, herself, trained in psychostrategy. Any stragetist good enough to attract Servalan's interest would have no difficulty in handling her. "Will you tell me his name?" he asked her.

"Certainly." Servalan smiled at him, sleek and bright now that she saw he would not argue further. "His name is Carnell."

Gort managed, somehow, not to laugh out loud. "Of course," he said, "the obvious man. One of my best, as you doubtless know. A genius, a true genius: so accomplished...so successful. A credit to our organisation. I'm sure I can persuade him to work with you."

"'Persuading' does not come into it, Gort!" she snapped. "You'll tell him - now. I want him, and I want him here - immediately. Is that clearly understood?"

"Indubitably," he replied politely. "He'll be on his way - immediately - Ma'am."

When her face had disappeared from his console screen, Gort started to laugh in earnest. When he'd recovered a little, he thought,  _On his way, certainly, my dear Supreme Commander, but not necessarily in your bed. Carnell's too clever for you, Servalan. Even if he desires you, he'll have you running rings around him while he sleeps with all the other women on Supreme Command. Oh yes, an excellent choice... The only thing is whether he can force you to carry out his strategy effectively._

And that, unfortunately, was the problem, and could be the disaster. Servalan was too individualistic, too conceited, to accept the orders of another. If it suited her, she might alter Carnell's strategy, or ignore his warnings. She was a highly unsuitable client...the very worst, and Gort's people were under strict orders never to deal with her except with his express agreement. This assignment could make or break Carnell...and if it broke him through Servalan's careless irresponsibility, Gort would find some way to get back at her if it took him the rest of his life to do it. For Gort saw Carnell, golden-haired, handsome, clever Carnell, as his successor in due course and he did not want to lose him, not at all.

Where was Carnell now? Ah yes, somewhere outside the Federation altogether, working with that hostile group after annexing a farflung Federation sector. Of course one did not tell one's High Council colleagues about this kind of work...it was none of their business; and business was business, after all. The Institute was a business organisation, not a military establishment run by Federation power. Gort's people worked for money - a lot of money. And that was another problem. Servalan was notoriously difficult when it came to settling accounts...always out to get something for nothing. Useful for her, no doubt, but a damned nuisance for anyone to whom she owed money. She was not, definitely not, popular except with her own troops.

He had to admit she had charisma, and a way with her when it came to command. Her people gave her absolute loyalty, even when she cheated them as she sometimes did. She was a clever woman in her way... Well, it was up to Carnell now to keep her on the straight and narrow. Sighing, Gort sent a message to her chosen strategist.

 

### CHAPTER TWO

Carnell was, to put it frankly, extremely annoyed. Interrupted in the middle of a most fascinating strategy, wrenched away at a vital moment, forced to hand over his work to a colleague and embarrassed by having to explain to his client that there were times when even he was forced to obey a superior's order, he was not in the best of tempers when he finally reached Space Command. Still, it would not do to show his anger to Supreme Commander Servalan and he looked his usual cool, relaxed self as he left his ship and was escorted towards the Supreme Commander's personal quarters.

He knew Servalan slightly in a social context. She was a goodlooking woman and he supposed he'd have slept with her if the occasion had arisen, but he could not say that he found her irresistible. Indeed, there were few women he found irresistible, though many he found desirable...and it was not often he failed to get those he wanted. You couldn't expect to win them all and the occasional failure hardly worried him. Women were, he felt, fair game, and an excellent relaxation; but he'd never put women before politics nor before his profession. There were always limits to...stupidity.

Love? Well, you had to expect that now and again. The thing was to accept it and enjoy it and if for some reason the woman resisted, you'd just have to accept the failure as well. It was just one of those things, human nature, and Carnell was fascinated by human nature. It was his abiding passion, studying people, and his genius...manipulating them.

Fortunately, he was not going to fall in love with Servalan. She was definitely not his kind of woman. Understanding himself was the first aim of a psychostrategist, and he knew, from start to finish, how to deal with Servalan's erotic fancies. There was no doubt of her erotic fancies with regard to Carnell: Gort had told him about that and he'd not been in the least surprised for Servalan's proclivities were well-known and her savagery when she did not get what she wanted well documented. It would be easy to manage her sexually.

Not so easy, though, to control her when it came to holding to a strategy. Like Gort, he was not in the least enthusiastic about having to deal with her. He'd studied her personality in the past - she was obligatory subject matter for his Institute as a matter of course - and had seen immediately the tendencies towards self-aggrandisement, deceit in her dealings with anyone who annoyed her, and the appalling and disastrous determination to foist the responsibility for her own failures on to someone else.

Still, she was a good-looking woman, well-made, exceedingly sensual and always attractive on the eye. He supposed he'd enjoy that - if nothing else. He'd probably sleep with her eventually - when it suited him.

"You'll remember me, of course," she said to him.

"Of course." He smiled with an outward show of enthusiasm, cleverly flattering.

 _He has a ready smile,_  she thought appreciatively,  _ready, yet a little secretive. What does he think behind those dazzling blue eyes of his?_  She remembered well his superb physique and his clipped, patrician voice which could be soft and warm or icily hard as the mood took him. He was a graceful, commanding man, supremely attractive, supremely desirable... Still, she'd save that for later. Blake and the weapon must be discussed first. "You will know about Blake," she said.

"The terrorist? Certainly. A pernicious nuisance, and a thorn in the side of High Council. You are under orders to destroy him." It was a statement, not a question. Psychostrategists were given access to all but the most exceptionally secret of Federation files, and even the most secret could...quite often...be breached, one way or another. Carnell had little doubt he knew more about Blake than even Servalan herself knew, not just because of his sources but also because his talents at analysis would tell him so much she could never even guess at.

"He's proved rather elusive," she said, aware that there was little point in prevaricating with a psychostrategist.

"Obviously." He smiled again, this time deliberately suggesting a little incompetence on her part.

As he'd intended, she was slightly annoyed. "Chance!" she said firmly. "With that ship and...," she hesitated a moment," a few other embellishments..." Again she hesitated. She was not, really, keen to tell him about Orac.

But it was too late now that she'd raised the question in his mind. "What embellishments?" he enquired, and when she did not immediately answer, he said, "I can do nothing for you unless you give me all the facts at your disposal. Perhaps it would be better if you commissioned someone else for this task, Ma'am. I'm exceedingly busy..."

"You are commissioned by me!" she snarled at him furiously.

 _How easy she is to manipulate,_  he thought, greatly amused. "So," he said lightly, "what embellishments - if you please?"

"Orac," she replied, accepting the inevitable. "He has a machine called Orac."

"Ensor's machine," he murmured. There was a rumour around the Institute that Servalan had been after Ensor's precious Orac and had failed to get it. So Blake had the machine? That was exceedingly interesting.

"You have heard of Orac?" Servalan asked him, startled.

"Indeed." But he did not elaborate on how he knew.

She decided to leave the matter of how he acquired his information. It was more important that he understood what Orac was. "It's a kind of computer," she said, "but like nothing I've ever encountered before. What do you know of it?"

"Enough to understand that it gives Blake a great advantage over Space Command," he replied. How he would like to work with Orac! But the chance of that was remote. "So you are wanting a strategy to take Blake, is that it?" he asked her, wishing she would get on with the matter. It was not so much impatience - he was a patient man, had to be in his profession - merely a matter of boredom with her hesitations. Carnell did not like to be bored.

"To take him or kill him, either will do. But there's something else as well, Carnell...and this is very confidential. You understand?"

He did, and laughed to himself. So that was it: another of Servalan's little personal ambitions, something not quite legitimate...like her unsuccessful efforts to get Orac. She could not have enjoyed losing the machine and she was out to succeed this time. He wondered what was more important to her: Blake's death or her latest fancy, whatever it was.

"There's a weapon," she said, "and I want it. I want it for my personal use. I want the acquisition kept secret - no-one is to know of it except you and me. This is another commission, Carnell, and I will pay you well for it."

 _Indeed you should,_  he thought. Keeping such a secret should cost her...but would she pay? "Do you want two separate strategies?" he asked her.

"Perhaps... I want to mark Blake...and one of his companions...with the weapon."

"To mark him? What does that mean? Ah...of course. Coser's invention."

 _So he knows about that as well,_  Servalan thought.  _Is there anything he does not know?_  "Coser's invention," she agreed. "I want it, and I want to kill Blake with it."

"And one of his companions," Carnell repeated softly. Which one? Probably the computer expert. He was the kind of man she'd notice. Doubtless Avon had annoyed her in some way. Or perhaps she felt he was too inaccessible to grab for herself. Too inaccessible...or unsuitable as a pet? Easier to kill him if she could not get him? What a vicious woman she was! Exciting though, in her way. It would be very amusing to string her along, flattering her, keeping her interest without inflaming her too much, manipulating her. "A possibility," he said, getting back to her other requirement, "would be to give the impression that Blake has stolen the weapon...and then kill him later."

"He must know he's been marked," she said," and the other one too. I most particularly want them both to know, Carnell, that they are at my mercy." Her eyes glittered with malice. "You'll see to that," she said. It was an order, not a request.

 _Repellant, aren't you,_  he thought. But it was a sensual kind of violence. He could imagine what men felt when they were enslaved by her. Was Blake's companion tempted by her? Or even enslaved already. It would be fascinating to find out. "I shall need," he said, "to spend some time questioning your staff...and yourself, Ma'am. Then I must visit the Weapons Research Base and observe Coser. The man's a Beta, I recall."

"Yes," she replied. "An unlikely grade to produce such an imaginative weapon."

"But useful for your purpose: he will be easier to manipulate than an Alpha grade... And finally, I must study the terrorists."

"We have considerable data here."

"No doubt," he said, smiling, "but I prefer my own sources. Very well...how soon do you wish to put the strategy into operation?"

"Immediately?" she suggested, sweetly.

"Wishful thinking," he said. "Ever the human occupation... I'll regard the matter as urgent."

"You can give me an estimate," she responded. "I must have a reasonably accurate idea of when I can expect to have the weapon."

"I must have time to work on Coser: he will be the linchpin of the strategy." Apart from yourself, he thought wryly. "I'll make no guesses now," he told her flatly. "You'll have your estimate - when I am ready."

And with that she had to be content.

What Carnell saw of Servalan's staff over the next few days confirmed the data he'd studied of her earlier, that she was reasonably efficient but not reliable. She expected perfection from her staff, and anyone who failed her was demoted forthwith, but she could not cope with criticism nor see in herself the faults which sometimes led to errors appearing to proceed from others. Well, Carnell thought grimly, life was always a gamble in spite of the best strategies he or anyone else could devise for dealing with it.

She made no particular advances to him and he concluded that she was a little wary of committing herself until she was sure of him. She had not dealt with psychostrategy before and was obviously uneasy at doing so now. He gave her as much outward assurance as he felt was applicable and for the rest he left her wondering.

Then he went on to the Weapons Development Base. Weapons in themselves did not particularly interest Carnell although he naturally had to know a good deal about them; but the people did interest him, especially the Beta technician Coser who had so amazingly come up with a particularly unusual weapon.

The principle was that it contained two parts: a section which looked like a weapon and was used to mark the victim, and a hand-held controller which was small, light, and easy to hide. The weapon had to mark from a close range but the handheld controller which effected the final slaughter could be operated later from up to a million miles away. How useful this could be to Servalan Carnell had quickly realised. He was not at all sure he liked the idea of her possessing it: she was likely to use it secretly on anyone she took a dislike to and even on those she did not dislike...such as himself, for example. Yes, he was committed, unfortunately, to getting it for her, but he would also ensure that she did not keep it. There was no point in taking foolish risks, especially any risk which could involve Servalan blackmailing him into her permanent service. He could well imagine how Gort too would feel about the weapon - he sent his Director a message and received a reply expressing exactly the horror he had expected. "Get rid of it," Gort ordered him. "Servalan is the very last person who should be allowed to use such an artefact." How Carnell agreed with that!

At least dealing with Coser would be simple enough. The man had a massive complex relating to his Beta grading. He was delighted to have proved it wrong - as he saw it - with his clever invention, yet suspicious of any sign of congratulation from his Alpha overlords. He was a gift to any psychostrategist. Carnell would have no difficulty in playing on his paranoia and, ultimately, instilling in him a conviction that his weapon was too marvellous for the offensive, haughty, selfish Alphas he served. First there would be a few staff changes, the introduction of particularly trying individuals who would soon put his back up, then an intensive programme of subtle victimisation. Eventually, Coser would leave and take the weapon with him.

Next, they must introduce Blake to the weapon - which would involve using Orac. Servalan now suspected that Orac could - somehow - read classified Federation data. And, of course, the Weapons Development Base would be bound to interest Blake. It was reasonable to suppose Blake might already have his eye on the base, and if he did not, he must be induced to do so soon.

Carnell returned to Servalan briefly and gave her an intimation of his ideas, flirted with her outrageously...or so she thought, and then slid away before she could decide whether to have him then and there. "You'll need four months," he said, "at the very least, to drive Coser off the Base. From then on it will be quick and easy."

"There's one thing I don't like," she told him. "You are suggesting that I should wait alone for Blake. I would prefer to have a bodyguard."

"No doubt you would," he replied, "but if you want to keep your possession of the weapon secret, you must be alone: I am sure you can see that."

"I do see it. Nevertheless, I will not go alone. There is a Space Commander Travis: you'll include him in your plan and he will accompany me. See to it, Carnell."

He'd seen Travis around the base, now and again. The man was undoubtedly psychotic, though not sufficiently so to be unpredictable. On the other hand, the man was a good officer - better by far than Servalan, in his way. Travis's personal hatred of Blake was no secret. Yes, it would be possible to use the man: better him than anyone else.

It was predictable too that Servalan would kill Travis when she had finished with him. Perhaps it would be a mercy, though she would not see it that way.

"Your word is my command," he said with his usual smile and, to amuse himself, continued flirting with her. It delighted him to see how easy it was to arouse her...but he would not have her yet; she must not think she had any kind of control over him. So he left her just as she was thinking of taking him, and left her both excited and faintly relieved that she had not made the decision.

But she was determined to have him eventually, one way or another. Meantime, there was a newcomer to her staff who'd do well enough. Servalan had a weakness for attractive youths and, most important of all, they could not threaten her. Carnell was different: mature, dangerous, exciting, to be handled with great care. Like Blake's friend Avon, of course... And if she could not safely get a man, or if he let her down, he must suffer commensurate with his status. A pretty boy could be demoted and left to grieve over the loss of her charms. A man of influence must be destroyed...or killed.

Carnell returned to his Institute's headquarters reasonably satisfied with the project so far. He was still uneasy about Servalan's ability to keep to any strategy, but the rest of it would be straightforward. All he had to do now was investigate Blake and his crew, and formulate the final strategy; and whilst he was about it he'd reinvestigate Servalan in the hope that he could come up with some extra safeguards, for Carnell saw no point in condemning himself to death at her whim.

"Well," Gort said to him after he reached the Institute, "she's paid the first account. I suppose that's something."

Carnell grimaced. "I had my doubts whether she'd do even that."

"You already know the risk you are taking in dealing with her. We will do everything we can to back you, but if your strategy fails - for whatever reason - you will have to leave Federation territory. We will arrange for you to return if she loses power. If not, we will employ you on the Outer Worlds."

Carnell nodded. Like all his colleagues, he had a second base established outside Federation territory, with equipment for his work and much of his personal fortune at his disposal there. It was always wise to be prepared for the possible disastrous failure...a failure which, in the case of any strategists in the upper echelons of the Institute at least, would usually be caused by client error or factors beyond computing possibilities. It was the inevitable risk: the unexpected, something so incredible that even the best, such as Carnell or Gort, could not anticipate. If Carnell had to run, he would ensure Servalan believed he could never return: it was the wisest way. Being a consummate actor like all of his profession, he would have no difficulty in convincing Servalan of almost anything. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said, "but I am very much afraid it might. She is easy to manipulate, yet difficult to control."

"The inevitable paradox of such a woman," Gort agreed gloomily, "always convinced she knows best or that some little deviation of her own won't upset the best laid plans."

"It's a pity she knew me," Carnell said, "or she might not have come to us." But there, it was difficult to avoid such a woman when you moved in the same High Alpha circles. "Catching Blake will be easy," he said. "The problem - every time - is Servalan."

He went to his private sector at the Institute and commenced with the investigation of Servalan's record. The material he used was partly from Federation Security, including a number of files to which he should have had no access but had long since entered without much difficulty, and part the special, detailed, and somewhat differently-biased Institute records which were very much more comprehensive than anything the Federation kept.

The impression was of a clever but not infallible woman, a woman with vicious tendencies yet occasional flashes of compassion, a woman who needed men and tended to take rather than be taken, who normally chose wisely amongst unimportant staff officers yet could be tempted dangerously by the more unusual of her compatriots, and then might...just might...take occasional risks in order to amuse herself. She had a weakness for games - games to trap her enemies, games which did not always succeed. She was ruthless and frequently unfair in her judgements, yet respected by her people, which suggested that she could charm when she chose and be gracious when she chose. He'd been right in his earlier impression, Carnell knew, that she was not to be trusted in any way whatsoever.

Then there was the Space Commander, Travis: a strange relationship, this. She had recalled this man because of his connection with Blake, had forced him on Space Command, had let him down more than once when he'd nearly taken Blake. But for Servalan, Travis could - it was clear - have succeeded. Yet the man was still loyal to her. What was there between these two?

Travis was no fool and, interestingly, he too was admired by his troopers. They did not necessarily like him but they found him totally fair - and in that he was far superior to Servalan, if fairness was to be a measure of his quality.

And what was their more intimate relationship? With Servalan's proclivities, she might have taken him to her bed in spite of his status - too senior to be the office boy she usually favoured, too junior to be her equal. But Carnell suspected that Travis would not have responded, at least not willingly. To him, Servalan was his superior, not a woman to couple with. There were always women who would like the sadistic type of man - he would not go short for companionship, if he chose to seek it.

On the subject of Servalan's proclivities, Carnell noticed in passing a strange little business of some woman called Kasabi who'd had a hand in training Servalan in her cadet days. As he read Kasabi's assessment of Servalan, he raised his eyebrows in amazement. 'Vicious,' she'd said and that was true enough; but 'unfit for command...lazy...'? Oh no, not Servalan. With all her faults, with all her prevarications and autocracy, Servalan was an excellent commander. The fact that she was an unfit client for the Institute of Psychostrategy was quite another matter. So what did Kasabi have against Servalan? Federation Security records offered no more help but the Institute files went back into her teens and there Carnell found the answer to his question. There had been no friction with Kasabi at first: quite the contrary, in fact, and secret Institute records indicated there had been a relationship. Servalan was quite capable of it, Carnell had no doubt, if it suited her purpose, though he imagined there was no more to it than that on her side. And Kasabi? There had occasionally been other favourites. Perhaps it had been no more than close friendship, but it hardly mattered, as the answer was clear.

And the answer continued with an account of Servalan's relationship with a certain Don Keller, an attractive but not very reliable officer who had, it seemed, lightly seduced Servalan when she was eighteen and then wandered off to pastures new. The love affair seemed of very little account, unless it had influenced Servalan's personality a little, and it did not matter to Carnell one way or the other, but it was significant that Keller had - quite abruptly - displaced Kasabi in Servalan's life. It suggested that whatever the feeling on Kasabi's side, Servalan had merely used her. The result, then, was that Kasabi turned on Servalan and refused to recommend her for advancement, which might have been the end of Servalan's military career but for the fact that Kasabi foolishly became involved with some freedom fighters and began to slip sedition into her lectures. Servalan seized on the unorthodox teaching...and that was the end of Kasabi's career instead. Rightly so, Carnell thought: the woman had been a fool in more ways than one and Servalan had proved, not for the first time, that she was ruthless. Carnell could admire her for that.

Could he use this information? He'd think about it, but probably not. Blackmailing Servalan would be risky. Meantime, there was Travis and the nuisance of having to fit him into the strategy. Travis could wreak havoc with Carnell's draft strategy... Well, there was a possible solution, but it would not please the people Carnell had in mind for Servalan to approach for help.

He progressed on to Blake. Blake was easy to assess: a simple revolutionary, loyal to his friends, earnest in his intentions, passionate in his ideals, with a conscience which see-sawed from an absolute conviction that he must be right to seek freedom at any cost to a desperate inability to accept emotionally the deaths that must occur if he were to succeed. He had probably passed through the first stage and was about to enter the second. He would just, Carnell conjectured dispassionately, be starting to show signs of instability, and that would help to trap him, for he'd be frantic to justify the deaths and passing destruction with a spectacular success. And Carnell needed that instability as it would help to silence the natural, sensible caution which Blake's companion Kerr Avon would undoubtedly express on every possible occasion. Blake was easy meat, but Avon was Liberator's hard man: Avon would be difficult to take.

Still, Avon seemed to be under Blake's thumb to some degree. In spite of his background, which was very similar to Carnell's, in spite of his education, his avowed avarice and his criminal interests, Avon was still with Blake and apparently helping him. It was possible that Avon stayed because he wanted Liberator or the mysterious Orac, but even that did not explain his apparent willingness to risk his life for Blake's Cause, as records showed that he had done...frequently. Avon was not an adventurous man, that was clear; or, at least, not adventurous unless it was to his own advantage. There must have been frequent arguments on Liberator, Carnell thought with a grin: he would have enjoyed listening in and assessing them all...

So what was the relationship between Avon and Blake? There was surely something, a mutual dependency? If Avon was aware of it consciously, he might find it irksome, would probably take out his inconvenient dependency on Blake. That would hardly make for an easy atmosphere.

Nothing was known of other relationships on Liberator, and they were probably immaterial in any case. The only other individual who might feature seriously in Carnell's strategy was the pilot, Jenna Stannis, and Carnell decided from her record that she would probably back Blake simply because her personality would complement his, even if some of their ideals were different - and it was likely she would find the computer expert irritating at the best of times. The telepath appeared to be another fervent revolutionary like Blake, of no serious account in this assessment, nor was the Delta thief in spite of his misgrading, nor the psychopath Gan.

Now Carnell called up Kerr Avon's Security record. Much of it he already knew, from noticing the case at the time and from conversation with friends about it. He remembered that Avon had been marked for political crime because of his ambitious attempted fraud and because he'd had a brief relationship with a woman who had revolutionary contacts even though she herself was regarded as 'clean'. An agent had been assigned to Avon - the notorious, experienced Bartolemew - and she had been instructed to seduce Avon and cohabit with him. Carnell called up Bartolemew's official Security record, and here he found a curious anomaly: the record was incomplete, and, try as he would, he could not find any more of it. It ended shortly before Avon absconded following the passport fiasco, and there was no information at all on Bartolemew's future after that, not even an official closure of her file. Mystified for the moment, Carnell accessed the file under her real name, Anna Grant.

This time, he was not surprised to find another incomplete record. It showed merely that a woman of that name had died under torture at the hands of a certain notorious Security interrogator nicknamed Shrinker, yet there was no note of her cremation and, again, no closure of the file. So, had Bartolemew transferred her allegiance to Avon and hence been killed for her carelessness?

Carnell's experience and intuition told him this was not the case at all for, if she had reneged on her duty, the facts would have been recorded very fully, with a comprehensive vilification of her name and detail of her inevitable confession - inevitable it would have been at Shrinker's hands. Yet the sparse record on Anna Grant showed no confession to speak of. So...Anna Grant was fishy, very fishy indeed, and so was Bartolemew.

On the other hand, Bartolemew's earlier record was fully denoted and you could not doubt her reputation. How annoyed her Control must have been, Carnell thought, when it was realised that Avon was not political and an agent of Bartolemew's quality had been squandered on an over-clever, greedy criminal who could have been dealt with by simpler, cheaper means. But what had happened to Bartolemew?

There was a note in Bartolemew's file that 'Anna Grant' had an older brother. Accessing via the brother's file, Carnell discovered full details of Anna's life up to her appointment as a Security agent - yet another strange anomaly as the information should have appeared on Anna's own file. So it seemed that someone in Security had misfiled information - or sought to conceal it. Why?

Back to Bartolemew's file, and Carnell picked up the record of her marriage to a certain Chesku whom he knew socially, though only very slightly. Yes, he remembered Chesku's wife. He had met her once or twice, some years ago, and had not liked her. He had suspected that Chesku would have trouble with her, sometime or another. So Sula was Bartolemew? Had she been ordered to marry Chesku in order to keep an eye on him? It was likely, since Chesku was known to be a close friend of Supreme Commander Servalan. And what had Chesku thought of her extra-marital activities with Avon and other 'subjects'? Had he even known? What kind of a wife was she? It was a strange kind of a marriage, to a Federation agent who was still actively engaged in her work - and such work!

Over to Chesku's record, and he found that the man had been transferred abruptly away from Earth after Avon had been captured, and Sula had accompanied him. Stranger and stranger...

It was possible, Carnell mused, to make a good many theories out of such facts as he had. He checked on the Institute records but found little more of interest on Bartolemew. Well, it really did not matter. It was not relevant to his present project, any of it. He had merely been - curious.

He called up Avon's Institute record, which was very detailed and had been updated frequently since his association with Blake. Ignoring the early material, which he had seen before and knew well, he concentrated on the recent data. Yes, it was clear that Avon was working actively with Blake even though his personality would suggest an antipathy to Blake's ideals and holier-than-thou attitudes. Servalan wanted this man to come with Blake to Coser's refuge. There was, Carnell thought, an even chance that he would - and an even chance that he would not.

There was one more record to view, a visual of Avon during his interrogation and trial. It was patchy and incomplete, but there was enough to see some of his sufferings: the initial anger and disbelief immediately after his capture, the fierce resistance to torture and the eventual breaking of his spirit...briefly, but adequately enough to obtain the necessary confession. Snippets only appeared of his agony, moments seized through some spycam which had somehow been captured on film by an Institute contact. And then the official record of his trial with Avon standing throughout in spite of his obvious exhaustion: defiant again, refusing to speak even in his own defence, and eventually taking without a single flicker of emotion on his proud, shuttered face, the fearful sentence. Carnell watched it all, outwardly impassive. When it ended, he blanked the terminal and sat in silence for a long time.

 _Well, my friend,_  he thought,  _you have a problem, haven't you? And I don't know that I can save you - or even if I should try. If you aren't taken now, you probably will be later, and perhaps your death then would be even more unpleasant... Unfortunately, it's up to you. Can you contain your curiosity sufficiently to keep away? That's the question, Kerr Avon and, regrettably, I suspect you won't. So I'm sorry... I'll try my best, and that's all I can say, to save you._

_As for myself, it gets worse and worse: strategies within strategies, and all because some Beta technician had to go and pursue a flash of inspiration..._

Finally, he brought a likeness of Servalan up on the screen and stared at it.  _Are you really going to be my downfall? No - not if I can help it!_

 

### CHAPTER THREE

The strategy itself was soon worked out and then Carnell returned to Servalan, who welcomed him with a charming smile and eyes glittering with excitement. Carnell wondered casually if she had in mind to seduce him yet, or whether she was still determined to be cautious. "The strategy," he said, "is with your aide." The aide was, he had noticed in passing, young, goodlooking, and rather green.

There was a screen on one wall of her room, to which she could transfer data if she chose. She activated it and on it flashed a simple representation of Coser and Blake. "That," Carnell said, "is merely the key. One has to have a key, you understand."

"Talk me through it," she commanded. "I want to hear your comments."

"Very well." As the titles of the sections came up, he detailed them briefly. "To induce in Coser a hatred of his colleagues and an admiration for Blake - an admiration which he will think he recalls from the days when Blake was politically active on Earth... To destabilise Coser and induce him to leave with the weapon... To ensure that he leaves alone so as to induce total psychosis... To ensure the ships on the Weapons Research Establishment are all of a similar range, fuelled for a certain distance only... To ensure that all habitable planets within that range are deserted... To produce a facsimile of Blake who can safely take the weapon from Coser... To provide Blake with provocative data on the Weapons Research Establishment so as to prompt him to have a special interest in it... To advise Blake when Coser leaves so that Blake will follow him... To ensure Blake does not know what IMIPAK is, so that he is excessively curious... To wait for Blake, to mark him, to send him away...and then activate the weapon and kill him without damaging the Liberator...

"You will see," Carnell said, "that Coser is to be allowed to indulge his inferiority complex to the point where it becomes an obsession."

"Is it necessary," Servalan asked, "to go to the extent of providing a clone? That will be very difficult, and expensive."

"I did not say the strategy would be cheap," he reproved coolly. "If you want the best, you must pay for it. The clone - or something similar to a clone - is necessary. You will realise that Coser will be near-insane on his lonely hideout. Do you imagine he will give his only defence - his precious weapon - to you?"

"Probably not..."

"He would mark you," Carnell said relentlessly, "and then he would kill you. He would never allow you near him. Believe me."

She did. "Very well. And where do I obtain the clone? The Clonemasters are near-inaccessible, these days."

"It is up to you to persuade them," he said. " You will have to arrange it somehow. Or do you require another strategy for that?"

More money, she thought angrily. "No!" she snapped. "I will see to it." She supposed it would be possible, with some bribery or considerable flattery. The Clonemasters were, she remembered from slight contact with their organisation, susceptible to flattery. They saw themselves as slightly saintly. She thought them much more than slightly ridiculous. "What of Travis?" she continued.

"You have insisted that he should accompany you. That presents a problem - for he will kill the clone the instant he sees it."

"He must be told in advance..."

"He may not be convinced. He is unstable, and growing more so all the time. The longer Blake escapes him, the worse he will get. He cannot be trusted."

"Are you telling me he cannot accompany me? I expressly informed you that he must!" she exclaimed angrily.

"That is understood," he told her calmly, and waited a moment for her to relax. Then he continued. "Travis must be conditioned. You will acquire more clones. Travis must be allowed to kill... The catharsis will hold until after you have seized the weapon. After that, it will not matter what happens to the remaining clone; and no doubt you can allow him to kill Blake as well - if you so decide."

"Perhaps I will," she murmured, smiling spitefully.

Bitch! he thought. He studied her with interest, noting the elegant gown which was both becoming and singularly revealing. He had no doubt it had been designed especially to please...and probably especially to please him. He wondered what her staff thought of her blatant, sometimes almost overpowering sexuality. It was, he imagined, no wonder there was a ready supply of young men to please her: if she did not choose them herself, they would be provided for her by some wise aide. He found her desires amusing and titillating but he still had not decided whether he would take her. Whatever happened, he would choose the moment, not Servalan.

"You are sure Blake will come?" she continued.

"That's the easy part. He won't be able to stay away. He'll have to know what IMIPAK is...what it can do, in case you could use it against him."

"As I shall," she smiled. "How delightfully apt, Carnell."

"I thought that you would like it."

"And the other one, Blake's friend. He must come too."

"You have not," he pointed out slyly, "indicated which friend you have in mind."

"But you have not asked, Carnell. Why is that? Are you unable to give me the friend?"

He laughed. "I did not need to ask, Supreme Commander, for there's only one other man who could interest you. Oh, he'll probably come, but I can't guarantee it. I am afraid you will have to accept that uncertainty."

"I won't accept it!" she flashed. "I am paying you..."

"My account for the next stage is with your aide," he countered. "I trust you will see your way to settling it - very promptly." He spoke civilly, but with just a touch of asperity, enough to impress the matter on her mind without alienating her. "As for Kerr Avon, I cannot say for certain which of his companions Blake will choose to bring to Coser."

It was not true. He could have devised a strategy which would certainly bring Avon to her...but he was not willing to do so. He had given her almost everything she wanted, and that last she must do without...he hoped. And if Avon allowed curiosity to get the better of him, if Avon came with Blake rather than the revolutionary Cally, then Avon would die and there was nothing Carnell could do to save him. It would be a...waste. "Wait and see," he said. "I expect you'll get him."

"You'd best hope I will!" she snarled.

He'd expected her to be annoyed...so he was not concerned. And, perhaps fortunately, it delayed the matter of a possible seduction. Would it, be wondered idly, be more amusing if he seduced her, or if she seduced him? Really, it hardly mattered once he'd decided to have her. It was the decision he had to take, and he had not taken it yet.

Nor, it seemed, had she, since she let him go after a few more questions. He suspected she thought he would stay on the base for a while, but he did not. He left immediately, before she had time to realise what he was doing. The simple fact was that he had better things to do than hang around waiting for her to shoot questions at him, let alone hang around whilst she ruminated over the matter of his physical charms. He knew she would be piqued, and the thought pleased him. He also knew she would send for him again when she was ready, and again they'd play their games of question and answer, cat and mouse; and which was the cat and which was the mouse she at least had no idea, whilst he most certainly had. Servalan would not, ever, control Psychostrategist Carnell: Carnell was far too experienced, too knowing...too well-trained to fall under the spell of the likes of Supreme Commander. There might be a woman somewhere who could hold him, but she was not Servalan.

 

For Servalan, the first considerations were to make the staff changes advised for the Weapons Development Base, to bring in the specially-trained Beta technician who would befriend Coser for a while and introduce him to the idea of idolising Blake. The first arrangements were easy and quickly accomplished. Then she sent to Earth for a genetic blueprint of Blake, a record which would be contained in his Security file. It was a pity, she thought irritably, that they did not have any of his living tissue as a proper clone would be more satisfactory, but if she were to get close enough to the nuisance of a man to get a tissue sample, she could kill him without Carnell's strategy...so she'd have to make do with a replica.

Persuading the Clonemasters would be quite a problem. The Clonemasters were inhabitants of a Federation-influenced planet. They were trying at the best of times and especially trying when faced with Supreme Commander Servalan whom they mistrusted ever since her efforts a couple of years before to enforce full Federation control upon their planet.

"We have a serious problem," she explained in her nicest, reasonable manner, "with a terrorist organisation. You'll know from your own history what problems these terrorists can cause..."

Clonemaster Fen did indeed know. Terrorism had plagued the planet for centuries until cloning became a way of life and the undesirable elements were finally removed from the population. "Yes," she said, "I sympathise."

"We are becoming desperate," Servalan continued earnestly. "Blake has stolen a magnificent alien ship. He uses it to terrorise the weaker worlds. He makes frequent attacks on our installations, causing no end of problems, attacks our ships..."

"But one man," Fen murmured. "What can one man do against the might of the Federation?"

"You may well ask!" Servalan put on an expression of deepest gloom. "I agree it is ridiculous - but the man has a following. You know yourself how easy it is to persuade young hotheads to join any crazy cause, especially if there's fighting. They all so enjoy it - until they get killed themselves. They should be in our forces defending us from Blake, not playing the fool with him against us."

"So what purpose would these clones serve?" Fen demanded, forcing the conversation back to the real issue.

"We need to replace the original Blake with a sane replica. We have a strategy developed to take Blake alive and he will be rehabilitated and put to work somewhere reasonably secure where he can't cause any more trouble. Meanwhile, his replica will take over his ship, help us to capture the rest of his crew, and then go around the galaxy with a new, loyal crew, exhorting would-be rebels to desist."

"That at least will be very worthy," Fen said.

 _Stupid fool!_  Servalan thought. "Then will you help us?" she enquired hopefully.

Fen considered. "We will," she said at length. "We will not like it...but yes. You will understand that the clones cannot be used for killing."

"I do not intend to use them as killers, Clonemaster Fen."

"I just mention it," Fen said. "Our clones and other forms of replica are instilled with the Rule of Life: that all life is sacred. They will be inhibited from murder of any kind."

"Very well," Servalan replied gently, hiding a sneer of contempt.  _The killing,_  she thought,  _will be on the other side!_

From Fen, she went straight back to Space Command and sent for Travis. "You are to undergo a course of therapy," she told him. "Your experiences on Oros, and later your failure to take Blake, have led to a certain instability. It is felt that therapy will be of great benefit...if you wish to retain your command."

It was part of the detail of Carnell's strategy with regard to the use of Travis, that he was to have therapy but the therapy would not be conventional. The therapy was to concentrate on Blake and the use of the Blake replica would not please Clonemaster Fen.  _It will,_  Servalan thought,  _prevent us from using the Clonemasters again for a very long time._  Did that matter? She did not think that she really cared, for with the weapon in her possession and Blake dead, the Clonemasters could go to perdition and beyond without causing her a moment's concern. For a start, she could mark them too.

Reports from the Weapons Base over the next few weeks confirmed that Coser was becoming first jumpy and then decidedly difficult.  **'The technician will cause some unrest,'**  Carnell had stated in his detailed strategy, and it was clear that the workers on the base were becoming deeply dissatisfied. **'The technician's ability is to be denigrated,'**  Carnell had stated next. Servalan sent instructions that Coser was to be severely disciplined, and then set off with Travis to see Clonemaster Fen again.

 **'One Blake replica is to be paraded before Travis,'**  Carnell's instructions insisted and, as Carnell had predicted, Travis killed the clone without hesitation or conscious reasoning. The Clonemaster was furious, but now Servalan saw precisely what the therapy had achieved. Travis's previous hatred of Blake had been turned, by aggressive therapy, into a pathological urge to murder. Travis was more unbalanced than ever.

Or was he?  **'The killing will provide catharsis. Travis will not kill the second clone.'**  Servalan had quite seen the point of that: she needed the replica alive to seize the weapon and Travis must be able to face it with equanimity.

However, the message which came to her via her ship, that Coser had moved already, angered her, and it was with the utmost irritation that she had to humour the tedious Fen for quite some more time. But at last she was rid of the woman and back at her ship. She went immediately to her communications officer. "Send a message, top priority. to Carnell at the Institute of Psychostrategic Studies, as follows:  **'YOU WILL COME TO ME INSTANTLY AT SPACE COMMAND.'** Top priority," she repeated angrily, then swept away to her cabin.

 

"She said what?" Carnell enquired fairly mildly of his aide, but with a frown creasing his brow.

His aide repeated the message, her voice even but with a look of angry disapproval on her face. The message was, in her opinion, insolent in the extreme.

"Dear me," Carnell murmured. "She sounds a little heated, don't you think?" He smiled at his aide, and added, "I presume everything is in readiness."

"Obviously."

"It may be the last time we meet, Sandri. I have appreciated your help."

"But I could come to you..."

"No, Sandri. Your career would be ruined. One disaster would be enough, believe me."

Sandri lowered her eyes. Her inclination was to follow him, no matter where, but her training told her he would disapprove. "I can only hope that you will return," she said at last. "I do not...do not wish to work with anyone else."

"Now, now... You know that's the wrong attitude."

"Of course I know it. But..."

"Sandri," Carnell said gently, "there is no point in any of this. You will stay here. And I must go chasing off to Space Command since Servalan seems unable to cope without me."

Servalan's instruction - her insistence - had been that Carnell must be at Space Command during the final stages of the operation; that he should arrive shortly before Coser was due to up and leave the Weapons Base, and that he should stay until she had the weapon safely in her hands and could return to congratulate him. He was only too easily able to see the implications: that if she succeeded, she would seduce him, enjoy him - and at some time mark him with IMIPAK. She would wish to do away with everyone who knew she possessed it, and her psychostrategist would be on her death list for certain. She could keep him, use him as she chose, wreck his career as surely as if his strategy had failed, and finally discard him when frustration, boredom and savage hatred had driven him to lose his inspiration. The chance of him ever leaving Space Command a free man would be remote, whatever the outcome of the strategy he had given her, since if he failed she would also kill him if she could catch him.

So, he had to trick her. His strategy towards Servalan had been to induce her to believe he would keep her nasty little secret - partly for the additional private fee she had promised him, and partly because she believed he was desperate for her body. He'd certainly boosted that impression as enthusiastically was decorous towards a 'valued' client; and after all, it was not exactly untrue...was it?

 _Dicing with my career, this is,_  he thought to himself as he walked with Sandri to his ship;  _but exciting too._  He had made up his mind about Servalan now, that was for sure. He'd have her, one way or another...but before she seized the weapon.

"Au revoir, Sandri," he said gently, pausing to take both her hands in his. "I expect I'll return - sooner or later. You know what to do - and remember my instructions concerning IMIPAK."

"Of course," she replied quietly. "It is to be taken from Servalan - at any cost. The strategy will be followed to the letter: you know that."

"And if the strategy should fail..."

"We will kill her," Sandri said. He left her then, and she turned away to hide her tears.

He found Gort waiting just inside the ship. "This is an unfortunate business," Gort said. "I have to agree with your analysis, though: Servalan will most likely mark you and then blackmail you. Still, you've faced dangerous situations before - I am sure you can cope."

"I don't suppose it'll be desperate measures," he replied, "but if the worst comes to the worst, I'll kill her myself."

"Try to avoid it. You can imagine the consequences."

Carnell laughed. "You'll find some excuse. Insanity, uncontrollable lust... You'll just have to blacken my reputation."

Gort sighed. "Take care of yourself," he said. "You know how we'd miss you. This could be a bad day for the Institute...the very worst."

"I know," Carnell replied, gravely now. "It reflects on all of us."

It was not, fortunately, so far from the Institute to Space Command and Carnell arrived there just after Servalan. He was well aware of the reason for her anger - the fact that Coser had departed a little earlier than he had predicted: but there, prediction did not guarantee accuracy to the minute. Telling Servalan so would be necessary, even though she would probably take it as a failure on his part...indeed, almost certainly would since she could not admit to her own intransigence.

He was conducted to her personal sector and told to wait. At last the door before him opened and he walked into her office. He glanced around - yes, she was alone. "Supreme Commander..."

She had been standing at her observation window, looking out at the stars. She turned to face him. "It's going wrong, Carnell."

He suppressed a smile at the expected comment. "Wrong?" There was a seat in front of her desk and he sat down. He gazed across at her challengingly. Then he fed her the next line of his strategy...intended to titillate. "Ma'am...I'm mortified by your lack of confidence."

Again, the answer was totally predictable. He had to struggle not to laugh. "If I lose Coser - and his invention - mortified is exactly what you'll be," she said nastily.

"I realise that," he commented, humouring her.

"So long as you do..."

"A brilliant psychostrategist like me? Come now, Supreme Commander: how would I not?" Nothing like laying it on thick, he thought.

"Carnell..." She came round behind him, slid her hand down over his shoulder and let it rest on his chest. It was the first intimate gesture she had made to him...and the sign that she was available. She might not know it yet, might be determined to hold out until she had IMIPAK, but he was not going to wait that long. His eyes narrowed, then he looked across her arm to the swell of her breast. Her dress was, as usual, sensual, but also loose...inviting. He resisted the temptation to reach up to her breasts. "He went a little sooner, that's all," he said. "The rest will be on schedule. You'll get IMIPAK...and when you do, no-one will realise you've got it because everyone else involved will either be dead - or running away.

It might not be politic to seize her breasts...yet...but her hand?

She slipped out of his grasp and moved away. He smiled at her sensuously. "Except you," she said softly.

 _Don't you believe it!_  he thought with an inward grin.  _I'll certainly be running away...as soon as I can._  "Should I be nervous?" he enquired provocatively.

"Oh...you're the strategist," she replied. "You tell me."

"I think," he responded, choosing his words with care, "that I shall be...needed...here, don't you think?" He allowed his eyes to glitter with lust - a lust which was not in the least feigned.

She insisted that he stay in her rooms even though there was nothing for him to do. He suspected she wanted to feast her eyes on him, to enjoy his nearness, and most of all, to exercise that sensual power she believed she had over him by forcing him to wait around on her orders. And it was not, after all, objectionable, being with her. Being more or less unoccupied, he fantasised lazily about her breasts and her thighs, and what he would do to her when the moment was right. Give it time, let her become really hot for him...it would not be long now.

There was a communication from Travis. "We've found his ship. It looks to have crashed and blown up."

She looked at him. "Carnell?"

The answer was so obvious. He was surprised she could not see it herself...or perhaps she would have done, eventually, if he had not been there to distract her; and, of course, there to ask. "It's a ruse," he said simply. "He landed first, then blew up the ship."

"Leaving himself no means of escape?"

"Guilt," he replied. It was laughably clear. "Symbolic suicide. It fits his personality." Which indeed it did now that Coser's mind had been twisted out of all recognition. Poor Coser. "Checkmate," he added idly, finishing yet again a chess game he'd been playing since there was absolutely nothing else to do. What a pathetically simple thing it was. He'd produce something ten times better than this himself, one of these days...in fact, probably quite soon if he was to be exiled. "Six times I've beaten it," he said. Ridiculous! And it had been damned expensive... "Talking of money," he added, "I don't suppose you'd like to discuss my fee at this particular point

...would you?" She still owed him, not only for much of the work he had done, but also for his silence over the IMIPAK affair. Would it be possible to wring the next payment out of her now? It was worth a try.

But of course she wasn't paying until she had to - if ever. "No," she said flatly, saccharine sweet. Then she walked round her desk and perched herself on it, looking down at him. "Why are you so certain he's not dead?"

"He's too good a pilot to have lost control that close to the ground." That was true. The man had proved to have had some training for - and talent for - flying a ship. Furthermore, the ships left for him to choose between had been easy to fly. He'd have been hard put to crash any of them.

"You don't know how close to the ground he was."

He sighed inwardly. She might not be able to analyse Coser's personality, but when it came to 'accidents', she should be able to see the answer as easily as he could. "They identified the remains of the ship. If he'd lost it in primary orbit, there'd be nothing left to find, let alone identify. Therefore, he was...close...and slow, when it happened." Again he allowed lust to drift lazily into his eyes. "Therefore," he ended, "it didn't happen."

She gazed at him almost hungrily. "You're...very plausible."

Here we go again, he thought. "I'm very good, Supreme Commander, believe me. I've taken everyone and everything into consideration. It's all as predictable as...that very expensive chess machine."

She nodded, then returned to her console and directed Travis to prepare for their journey to Coser's refuge. Then she looked at Carnell again. "You'd better be right," she said. In spite of her lust, there was menace in her voice. She was, he thought, a fascinating woman, and a fine Commander - in her way. It would be a great pity if he had to kill her. It would be better for her if she gave IMIPAK to him without a struggle. She was too good - in her way - for the Federation to lose, yet she must be controlled, not totally in control...

He got to his feet, his decision made at last. This was the moment, and she was going to submit to him even if he had to near-rape her. It was not so much lust on his part, though that came into it, but his strategy to protect himself and wrest IMIPAK from her. "By now," he said, responding to her last comment, "Coser's completely psychotic. It won't strike him as remotely odd when the folk hero he admires so much arrives out of nowhere... And when a second Blake turns up, he probably won't even notice." He started to take off his cape, gazing at her challengingly, noting her half-enthusiastic, half-uneasy physical response.  _Oh, you're easy game,_  he thought delightedly... "He's a very sick man," he continued. "He shouldn't be totally alone as he is... It's awfully bad for his health." He dropped his cape on to the chair. "You have an hour before you leave," he said. "It is vital you do not arrive too soon - you'll remember I stressed that."

"Yes," she answered, a little breathlessly, "I remember."

There was a privacy key on her console, that would keep out all of her staff, even her aides. He walked round to her console, leaned over and pressed the key with aggressive determination. "You'll be inaccessible for the hour," he said. "It'll...ensure Travis doesn't get too impatient. After all, he won't be able to leave without you."

She also stood then, and came to him. "One hour," she said, clearly decided. "There's much one can...do...in an hour."

She had, he knew, withdrawing rooms where she could rest if she chose. There would be a couch. He took hold of her arrogantly. "One hour of delight," he breathed. "I have dreamed of this." And so he had, but not as desperately as she would like. Not that he wouldn't enjoy it, mind you.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and rested herself against him. She sighed as his hands slid under her clothing and cupped her breasts at last. "You are very beautiful," she murmured. "Do you know that?"

"So I've often been told. Do you wish me to return the compliment?"

"If I please you..." She had no doubt that she would.

"Is it possible," he asked her, playing up relentlessly, "that you could not?"

"Time," she murmured, "will tell." One hand slid up and into his hair, drew down his head. "Kiss me."

She was frantically aroused. He would make their first coupling swift, hard, and fiercely intense: she'd enjoy that. She'd enjoy being hurt quite a bit, being roughly used, thinking he was out of his mind with need. Later, he'd let her make the running, let her bite and scratch, anything she wanted. He liked to analyse what a woman needed of him, to provide it - or not - as it suited him. He knew exactly what Servalan needed and he would let her have it all - for that one hour. It was, like as not, all she'd ever get from him, so they should both make the best of it.

For himself, she'd be just another woman in the long line of women he'd chased and pleasured. Servalan was...in her way...charming, but she was not unique. As he took her violently and watched her cry out in her climax, he wondered if there really was any woman who could ever hold him for long. And as he relaxed for a moment after the first passion and waited for her to recover too, he thought that if any love did enslave him, the trauma would be more than anything he'd ever known before. It would be marvellous...but terrifying. And if he did not win his love, unbearable beyond belief. Perhaps it was better, this way, enjoying women without worrying what would come of a casual liaison, amusing himself without particularly respecting them nor caring what became of them, so long as he pleased them while it lasted and did not leave them too despairing when he'd had enough.

Servalan turned to him and he thrust aside the philosophising. There would be a time for that, a great deal of time, once he was an exile. For the moment he'd enjoy himself. It was always his philosophy to take life each day as it came - organising it as best he could, watching for the hitches and the pitfalls, ordering his future as he chose yet never fretting if it didn't always work out as he'd calculated. It was excellent to be trained to assess the future, yet foolish if you lived too much by your own computations and could not cope if circumstances changed. It was the differen between Carnell and those who sought to emulate his like without having either the flair or the common sense to realise that nothing -nothing whatsoever - was ever entirely predictable.

 

She'd gone at last, after an hour of quite superlative sensuality: even he could admit that. She had not surprised him because he had analysed her far too carefully ever to be startled by anything she could do or want, and he was far too experienced with women to be faced with any new variation of love. But she had delighted him - as he'd expected - and he knew she would be burning to get back to him. Only her implacable greed for power and her need to destroy Blake could tear her away now. When she'd gone, he smiled to himself and settled down to wait.

She'd left him in her rooms, wanting him watched by her staff, wanting to be sure he'd be held there until she returned. And he knew it, but he'd taken that into account as well. So, since there was - again - little he could do, he occupied his mind with his strategies for the future; and also, he thought a little about Blake, who would almost certainly die very soon, and Avon who might, but he hoped would not. If Blake died and Avon survived, Avon could take Liberator away from Servalan for good. There was no need for Avon ever to be captured, no need whatsoever, unless he chose to carry on Blake's Cause. As to why Avon might do just that, Carnell was intrigued. He wanted now, very much, to understand the bond - and bond there undoubtedly was - between these two.

The time passed with tedious slowness, but he had expected that and stayed relaxed and calm. Aware that spycams might be trained on him, he was wary what he did...showing enough interest in the rooms and their contents to seem unaware of watchers yet careful not to arouse any suspicions.

It was when he was standing at Servalan's observation window for what was surely the fiftieth time, gazing with rapt fascination as he always did at the stars and the infinite, sheer dazzling, breathtaking beauty of space, that the door opened and a young officer entered briskly.

"Supreme Commander?"

He had his back to the young man. He waited a moment, wondering how the boy had got past Servalan's aides. Then he turned and walked casually towards him. "Almost the only thing I never find boring," he remarked conversationally, "contemplating the infinite... Is there something I can do for you?"

"I was to report to the Supreme Commander, Sir."

Carnell smiled at him. "Too late, I fear. She's already on her way." He walked past the officer, then decided to amuse himself. "To what, do I hear you ask?"

The poor young man took it well. "No, Sir..."

"Excellent," Carnell beamed, continuing the game mischievously. "It was a trick question." No harm in giving the lad a useful tip. "Always remember, the Officer corps will forgive anything it can understand - which makes intelligence the only sin."

The youth kept his face impassive.  _Very good!_  Carnell thought.  _This one will go far - if Servalan doesn't ruin him first._  He wondered if the lad had already been enslaved by her.

"Have I your leave to so, Sir?" the young man asked.

A slight sign of unease now, Carnell noted. The lad's composure was slipping a bit - but he'd learn. Still, he couldn't go yet. If he'd come in here, it could be of vital importance, whatever he had to do with Servalan. "What did you want to see the Supreme Commander about, or..." he added wickedly, "...am I being indiscreet?"

The boy did not blush. Good! She probably had not noticed this one yet. Carnell liked him and hoped for his sake that she never would, even if that should, for a while, hurt his young, susceptible feelings. He'd be better off with a loving girl of his own age... "I have a report for her," the young officer said.

Carnell held out his hand but, predictably, the lad did not hand over the report. "It's confidential," he said, rather repressively.

Carnell appreciated that. It would not do if Servalan's people handed over confidential reports to any casual stranger. Nonetheless, he had to see the report. It could be nothing to do with Coser, but he had an uneasy intuition it had everything to do with Coser and, unless it was merely more detail on the havoc Coser had caused at the Weapons Base, the murders he had committed when he did away with most of his colleagues by using the weapon, and the wreckage which had resulted when he'd let loose with - it was conjectured - a primitive sledgehammer (of all things)...this report could be of vital importance to Carnell's strategy. Carnell wiped the friendly smile from his face. "From an official psychostrategist?" he snapped haughtily, and it had the desired effect.

The boy was startled out of his composure, and who could blame him? He made the inevitable, awed remark about Puppeteers, and Carnell sweetly relented, amusing him (though the lad warily kept his face straight) with a disarming, faintly wry response of acknowledgement. The lad was a little discomfited, feeling he'd been offensive, and tried to apologise. Carnell soothed him. "I was offensive," he said lightly. "Why shouldn't you be?" The boy's military training had not prepared him for this kind of reaction from a superior and he didn't understand, but he would later, when he'd thought about it. Another lesson for him to learn, another useful tip for the future... Carnell smiled at him, condescendingly, forgivingly, but implacably. "Give me the report."

He looked at it. It was not only important, it confirmed the very worst of the fears he and Gort had had when Servalan first demanded his services. The damned woman's staff had slipped up...had allowed Coser to take his slave along with him. So much for seizing IMIPAK. Servalan might get her hands on it, might even manage to mark Blake since Coser's precious slave wouldn't stop Blake arriving...but it was very doubtful whether Servalan would keep IMIPAK. Ah well...it might save him the hassle of pretending to Servalan that he was out to get IMIPAK for himself.

As for the lad, he could have that useless chess computer. Carnell wouldn't be wasting any more of his precious time on it, and the boy would undoubtedly appreciate it: he was the type. "A small return," he remarked as he handed it over, "for saving my life...but then, it's all I own."  _Properly philosophical,_  he thought, smiling again at the boy,  _if not entirely true!_

The lad would remember the remark later, he knew, and think about it. Perhaps he'd even work out something of why it had been said. At any rate, it might - just possibly - serve to warn him that Supreme Commander Servalan was not always to be trusted.

The boy was hesitating, uncertain what to do next, wondering if he'd been right after all to hand over the report to this commanding stranger. "You have my leave to go now," Carnell said, gently reassuring.  _And let us hope,_  he thought to himself as the young man went away,  _that Servalan does not demote you - or worse - because I persuaded you against your orders to give me that precious, cursed report._

He sat down and looked at the report again, reading it more closely. It was only too painfully clear, now, that he was going to have to escape immediately, for at any moment orders would reach Space Command to have him arrested. "And the other mistake I made," he murmured wryly, "was not getting an advance on my fee..." It would have been satisfying to wring that out of her, if nothing else.

Still, she would not hold him if he could help it. He could see only too well what would happen to his strategy now for Servalan would take it upon herself to alter his strategy once she'd discovered the presence of the slave-girl with Coser. Without Carnell there to consult, she'd use her own initiative and that...sadly...would be that.

Did it matter? Carnell had no personal grudge against Blake, although he thought him a pest the Federation could well do without. And there was Kerr Avon, who now might well be safe...that mattered. In fact, the failure of the strategy, disappointing thought it might be for Servalan and frustrating though it might be for the Institute, might not be a disaster for Carnell personally after all. There was always the chance of a blessing in disguise - so long as IMIPAK was in some way rendered harmless. He must leave Gort to see to that now.

At the moment, though, this operation was nearly over. All he had to do was get out...

He activated the door control. Outside, there was an officer on guard. "Can I get you something, Sir?"

"Indeed you can," Carnell replied with a brisk heartiness. "There's a certain officer the Supreme Commander mentioned to me who'll find me a place to work. As you know, I'm likely to be here for some time yet and I don't think the Supreme Commander's office is quite the place...do you? No, of course it's not! Lieutenant Archard's his name..."

Archard took him to the appointed room, and Carnell knew he would stay on guard outside. There was a console in the room and first he would record a message for the lovely, passionate Servalan: why not? And he'd make it sufficiently heartrending that she'd be quite convinced he'd never darken her portal - what a charming analogy - again. He went to her console and recorded a wry, pleasant message, friendly yet laced with a not too unkind admonition of her staff's incompetence. He chose the words carefully, speaking with slow deliberation as he usually did, adding an air of gentle regret...such a shame to lose her so soon. To please her and because he felt she could now get back to normal without dangerous weapons and perhaps without even Blake to worry about and fume over any longer, he threw in a warning about Travis.  _That poor devil,_  he thought as he remarked on Travis's present depressing mental state,  _has hardly been helped by the so-called therapy he's received,_  but there, he'd have to cope as it had all been in the selfish interests of his evil genius of a Supreme Commander...

And at the last, Carnell sought to convey, sweetly and in all honesty...yet diplomatically in case anyone else should be observing him now or watch through the message later...just how much he had enjoyed her for the little time they'd had together... "One last thing, Supreme Commander: I must tell you this. You are undoubtedly the sexiest officer I have ever known..." For was it not courteous to leave a woman with a fond, complimentary farewell, no matter what she had done to your career?

Now he peremptorily called Archard back into the room. "Sorry about this," Carnell murmured, and delivered to Archard's chin a swift, savage uppercut which laid him out instantly on the floor. Carnell grinned at him without malice.  _I'm sure you'll be credited with that one very generously,_  he thought as he walked way from the room...not hurriedly, not suspiciously, but quickly enough. As he'd expected, Servalan had not yet alerted the whole base to any need to keep him under lock and key, and he reached his ship without incident. And of course Archard, one of his Institute's executive members and an agent on the base, would have done his best to ensure that anyone who might be tempted to hinder Carnell was well out of the way. He entered his ship and in a few crisp words informed his crew of the situation, whereupon his pilot demanded instant clearance to leave. There was a slight hesitation from Flight Control and a query whether Carnell was on board. "Certainly not," the pilot responded smoothly. "My master is still awaiting the Supreme Commander's return and he has ordered me to depart...and he will be staying here for quite some time. He sounded very...er...keen to stay." The pilot laughed conspiratorially and there was a knowing snigger from Flight Control in response. "I expect you'd like us out of the way," the pilot added.

Flight Control had no real reason to be suspicious, and no evidence Carnell was on his ship. Archard would be unconscious for some time - what it was to be a loyal member of the Institute! - and certainly would not be found yetawhile. He would, Carnell imagined, be demoted, perhaps violently upbraided, very likely slapped savagely around the face when his infuriated (frustrated) Supreme Commander found out he'd lost her future pet/victim ( _shades of Avon!_  Carnell smiled to himself). Well, Archard would survive - it was all part of his duty to the Institute. It was always advisable to have agents...everywhere.

They were away in no time, and the ship turned towards the Federation's boundary and what Carnell lightly called his bolt-hole: the unaligned, extra-Federation planet Skar. Here Carnell had a house which was, to say the least, gracious and substantial, excellently staffed and supremely suitable for a Senior Psychostrategist's exile...temporary exile? Here Carnell would reorganise his life and here his Institute could contact him whenever they pleased. Life would not be all that different.

He reached Skar and entered his alternative home with pleasure, greeted his staff and smiled at his aide, who was not Sandri but who was still very pretty and efficient, and devoted to him. How pleased she would be, he knew, to have him here instead of almost always elsewhere, and how pleased he would be to work with her even though she was not Sandri. He went through the usual motions, checking arrangements, ordering the next day's routine, discussing mail and messages, sending a long report via the secret Institute channels to Gort so that Gort could continue the strategy relating to Servalan and seek to neutralise any problems she might cause. And finally, when everything that mattered was done and they had all left him alone and he could relax, he sat at his private console and addressed his computer which was one of the most advanced and most powerful available, purchased outside the Federation from aliens at a most exorbitant cost...yet he'd been pleased to pay in order to get it. "Computer," he said, "let's see just how good you are. Tell me if Kerr Avon is still alive."

The machine uttered a brief holding response and Carnell waited, not too impatient, not too anxious, merely hopeful. And at last it responded. +The Liberator,+ it said, +left the planet specified without incident and was more than two million miles distant from pursuit ships when last observed. There is no reason to suppose any fatalities have occurred.+

 _Interesting,_  Carnell thought. So it seemed likely Blake had escaped with his life as well. Poor Servalan: no IMIPAK, no Carnell, no Blake, no Avon. How piqued she would be. He wondered how she had enjoyed his message. Had she smiled, remembering, or cursed him and smashed the console screen in her fury? He suspected the former was far more likely, if only because he'd been so careful to amuse rather than annoy her.

"Computer," he said, "I want you to monitor what you can of Liberator's movements. Most particularly, I want to be assured Kerr Avon is alive... Report every six hours until I specify otherwise." He switched off the terminal and finally, as satisfied as he could be, he went to his bed. It was not a lively night, but he was glad of it. He felt that he needed a rest...alone. As he drifted into sleep, he thought first of Servalan and what he had done with her...and then he thought of Kerr Avon. It was with Avon's features seeming to sway above him that he finally slept.

 

### CHAPTER FOUR

After the nasty business on Fosforon, Blake decided to take the Liberator out of Federation space for a while. Although the interlude on the uninhabited planet and the sad episode with Zil had given him a break from more pressing worries, he still felt drained from the shock of Gan's death and the uneasy acceptance that he was not, after all, invulnerable. It had not been pleasant, facing the fact, and Avon's endless carping about saintly attitudes and heroic failure did not exactly help. So Blake had looked around for a diversion, something that would, he hoped, silence Avon for a while, and good old Orac had found it for him.

+Games,+ Orac said succinctly, soon after the ship had drifted through the Federation's theoretical boundary and into the wilder regions of the Galaxy.

"Games?" Blake had been surprised. "Whatever do you mean, Orac? Avon isn't exactly into role-playing or ludo, you know."

+I am not referring to either,+ Orac replied in its usual repressive tone, +though Avon could use his intelligence to great effect in any kind of game, if he so chose. I am considering specifically the game of chess.+

Well, it was true enough that Avon played chess now and again, especially the five-dimensional variety. The problem was that only Blake was competent enough to offer Avon a serious challenge. Jenna and Cally tried but found the extra dimensions tedious, and Vila was totally confused when he had to think of any plane other than the horizontal - or so Avon always said - although it had to be admitted he had not done well with two-dimensional chess either when Avon had unkindly suggested it and then forced Vila to attempt it. "The only dimension that makes any sense is the one we've got," Vila had said huffily after a resounding defeat. "It's no use suggesting I should understand this simply because I like a drink now and then. I mean, I'm not drunk now, am I?" Whereupon he had tripped over the holoboard and crashed to the floor.

"You certainly aren't sober," Avon had retorted. "Perhaps you'd find the game easier from down there - it would give you a real idea of what life would be like if you can't go up - only along and round." And then he'd sent for Gan to carry Vila off to his cabin. "Useless!" he'd said to Vila's departing body, but afterwards he'd admitted the game had been amusing if nothing else. "It's been done before," he told Cally, "but it's rather boring after the novelty wears off. There's so little scope, you see, for originality, unless you are playing with someone totally illogical - like Vila."

+Chess,+ Orac said now. +A game of strategy. You are interested in strategy and so is Avon. Strategy is essential if you are both to survive. I recommend you to the planet Skar.+

"Ah," said Blake, "now I understand: the Gamers' planet."

+Precisely. It is within two days' travel from our present position. And better, Skar is marketing a new variation of chess and Avon could be one of the first to try it. I think that might take his mind off you for a while.+

Blake beamed. It was worth a try! "Very well," he said, "let's get on our way."

And indeed Avon was interested. "Nine-dimensional chess," he said thoughtfully. "It does present a challenge... The only problem is, how am I to play it?"

The implication was clear enough: no-one on Liberator was competent enough to challenge Avon to nine-dimensional chess. "You'll have to play Orac," Blake said, grinning broadly.

"It is better to challenge a human," Avon replied.

"You really think humans have an advantage over Orac?" Cally queried in mocking disbelief. "Avon, your principles are slipping!"

"Computers are predictable, humans are not," Avon said. "Chess is a game of warfare, not inimitable facts. Without the vagaries of the human mind against me, how can I exercise my initiative?"

Blake laughed. "Amazing," he said. "Avon has found a human attribute he approves of!"

"Not at all," Avon responded. "It is just how things are. I don't have to like it, but I accept it."

"So Orac can't challenge you adequately?"

"Precisely."

"We have to find a human like yourself?"

"Precisely, again."

"That'll be difficult, won't it!" Vila sniggered. "I mean, who'd even want to be like Avon?"

"The one with the most 'vagaries' around here is Vila," Jenna remarked. "Just think, Vila: you might beat Avon at nine-dimensional chess if you can be illogical enough."

"You may be sure I won't even try to play it..."

"You may be sure you won't be asked," Avon said coldly. "If two dimensions floor you..."

Vila could not for the life of him understand why everyone else laughed.

 

On Skar, they found a good deal to interest them, and even Vila was satisfied with games more suited to his temperament, which mostly involved gambling, forfeits of the salacious type, and a good deal of general merriment. Leaving his compatriots to more esoteric delights, he disappeared into Skar's lowest games dens and was not seen for days.

Avon went with Blake to the emporium advertising the new chess variant. It was not that they wished to be together, far from it, merely that each was intrigued and there was no point in travelling separately. With Avon preoccupied, for once, with matters not directly related to fighting the Federation or what he called 'Robin Hood antics', he was a bearable companion, and Blake relaxed properly for the first time since Gan's death. And Avon, strained as Blake had been by the continual pressure of Federation enmity, relaxed too and managed to talk to Blake in something less than his usual tone of unconcealed contempt.

They came to the games emporium, which was a vast, sprawling games store, twenty huge floors of games from the archaic, snakes and ladders of childhood to the most incredible role-playing saga in which participants could - if sufficient wealthy - make over whole planets to dangerous and terrifying adventures with no guarantee of survival. "There's no morality in any of that," Cally remarked as she watched a video-ad for a game so brutal and savagely mind-bending that she could hardly believe her eyes. "Surely no sane person could do this?"

"There's sanity and sanity," Jenna commented, equally disgusted but far more cynical. "Some punters can't resist the temptation to defy death."

"I suppose one can hope they'll be eliminated by their own vile game," Cally muttered. "I've had enough of this... Let's find something more intelligent."

"I'm not sure I'd call it unintelligent if it eliminates psychopaths," Jenna said. "Some of those tortures would attract them, and if the so-called heroes are willing to risk such tortures, they could be masochists. We'd be well rid of them too."

"Ugh!" said Cally, which rather summed up their combined attitudes to such games and anyone vicious or irresponsible enough to want to play them.

Avon and Blake had gone straight to the big promotion for the new chess variant. "But we don't just buy it," Avon said. "We try it first - naturally."

"You realise," said the saleswoman dealing with their request for a trial board, "that this game is exceedingly difficult. Your IQ..."

Avon withered her with an icy stare and a pithy comment about his IQ. She backed off, muttering an apology. Blake grinned as he watched a couple of youngsters being bustled tactfully away from one of the trial boards, and then took his place opposite Avon. "OK,", he said, "who's for white?"

In a private room nearby, a fairhaired man was talking with the General Manager of the store. "Nine," he said. "You see how effective it is."

"Indubitably," the General Manager agreed. "But are you sure you couldn't manage nineteen?"

"I have already explained to you..." The fairhaired man was patient and told him again, nonetheless. "The complexities are too daunting for all but the most exceptional intelligence: you would never sell the variation in more than ones and twos and returns would be inevitable when purchasers realised the game was virtually impossible. The game could not be played without the most sophisticated of computer back-up. Much time is required to calculate each move. A single game could take years to complete."

"It's such a good number, nineteen," the General Manager said. "Isn't there any way you could simplify...?"

The fairhaired man sighed inwardly. "Nine," he said firmly, "is the practical limit for your purposes. Anyone wanting to go further will be innovative enough to develop their own personal variation."

"Ten, then, or twelve..?"

"No," said the fairhaired man flatly. "If you want other variations, produce them yourself." Yet he still spoke calmly, even blandly. There was no point in showing impatience, whatever you felt, with a lesser intelligence.

It was his medium, the mind, with the human mechanism its adjunct. Games amused him as a casual hobby - not so much to play, for most were too simple to test him, but to invent. With his fine instinct for the human mentality, he could tune his games to suit any intelligence, and games of strategy interested him. Since time immemorial, chess had been the most superior game of strategy, and the desire to take it to its limits his perpetual challenge. He could have chosen 'eight' or 'ten' dimensions for this acceptably marketable variation, but 'eight' was vaguely awkward for the customer to say, and 'ten' sounded mundane. 'Nine' was a number which seemed to interest humans. It lacked the magical connotations of 'seven' but magic would not appeal to the chess addict; better to choose a number which was intriguing and...sensible.

Beyond twelve dimensions, chess moved out of the human grasp and computers had to be used to calculate the moves. At nineteen dimensions, the number which so interested the store's General Manger, the complications were appalling. He had attempted it once, using two of the most sophisticated computers he had been able to find, but after three months and only sixteen moves, he had regretfully had to put the game aside. Perhaps one day he would have the time to finish it?

"Perhaps you'd like to watch some of the players," the General Manager was suggesting.

"By all means, Dragar," the fairhaired man agreed lightly.

They went out into the sales area and strolled past the boards, inspecting the play. "Now here's an interesting one," Dragar remarked, noting the strategy being recorded on a screen above an absorbed couple who seemed to have been playing for some time. "You see how original the 'black' is. In fact, I'd go so far as to say he's quite... What's the matter?"

"Nothing," the fairhaired man replied, wiping a momentary look of amusement from his face. "Let us carry on watching the game."

It was Blake who first became aware of the fairhaired man watching them. He looked up and found himself confronted with a bland smile.  _He knows who I am,_  Blake thought instantly. "Avon..."

"Well?" Avon was deeply immersed in the game and resented the interruption. "You aren't giving up, are you? You still have a chance - a slight one."

"But he won't win," the fairhaired man said. "He hasn't grasped the complexities of the game sufficiently to win, whereas I could retrieve his game for him and beat you...Avon."

Avon's head jerked up. "Carnell," Avon said slowly. "You are Carnell..."  _No,_  he thought, appalled, furiously defensive.  _No, that's...impossible._  And he felt himself, against his will, tremble.


	2. PLOTS TRUE OR FALSE

## PART II - PLOTS TRUE OR FALSE

Plots true or false are necessary things.

Dryden

 

### CHAPTER ONE

Blake stared at Avon, aware that something was wrong. "Who is this Carnell? How does he know us?"

"Psychostrategist Carnell," Avon said. He was regaining control of himself now and able to speak calmly. "We have met...a long time ago."

"A psychostrategist?" Blake echoed, and looked at Carnell with open curiosity.

"Come," Carnell said to Blake, "finish the game. Or shall I confound him for you?"

Blake smiled faintly. "Why not? I don't often beat Avon at chess at any level. I'll enjoy watching how a psychostrategist does it."

"I shall welcome a more equal challenge," Avon said shortly, but he did not look pleased. He waited until Carnell was seated in Blake's place and then made his next move.

The game moved to its close quickly, in spite of all Avon's efforts to keep the advantage he'd had at first, and Blake chortled with glee as Avon finally capitulated by symbolically thrusting over his King. "It's a relief to find someone who can beat so well!" Blake exclaimed.

"You have had prior experience of this level," Avon said. It was a statement, not a question.

"I developed the presentation: a mild hobby of mine, no more," Carnell replied, "but it amuses me to sell the games I invent or elaborate upon. I hope you will buy it - Blake? After all, that's what the people here want."

"Oh, I think so," Blake replied. "I want to see Vila's face when he finds himself confronted with nine different levels. He has enough trouble with the usual three... Now, Carnell, are you going to tell us just how you come to know us?"

"Don't worry," Carnell said. "I won't betray you. I am a fugitive too."

"You are?" Blake was immediately interested. "What did the Federation do to you?"

"It's a long story and this is hardly the place to tell it," Carnell said. "Suppose we go somewhere more secluded?"

 

"It was more a case of upsetting Supreme Commander Servalan," Carnell continued later as they travelled swiftly across the city in his transport.

"Servalan is a confounded nuisance," Blake commented. " Anyone who upsets her is likely to become a friend of mine."

Carnell did not respond and Avon looked at him sharply. "Just what - precisely - did you have to do with Servalan?" he demanded. "Psychostrategy..." Something was gelling slowly in his mind, a terrible suspicion. "Puppeteers," he said. "That's what they call you, isn't it? A semi-secret organisation, with your own secret enclaves and institutions no-one else can enter. You aren't controlled by Supreme Command, you're independent - your services purchased for money, not enforced."

"How mystical you make it all seem," Carnell smiled. He smiled a great deal, Blake noticed, thought not always invitingly. Blake wondered fleetingly whether Servalan had been taken with him.

"Perhaps mystical is how you intend it to seem," Avon retorted to Carnell. "Blake: puppets on a string. What does that remind you of?"

Blake looked surprised. "Nothing in particular. Childhood?"

"Psychostrategists could be seen to treat us all as children - inferior things, to be manipulated," Avon said. "Think, Blake! The Federation's secret Weapons Base...IMIPAK. Do you remember what you said?"

"What I...?" Comprehension dawned and Blake's face darkened. " **She knew our every move. She was waiting for us. She was the puppeteer and we...** "

"Only it wasn't Servalan who held the strings!" Avon snarled, turning savagely on Carnell. "It was you, wasn't it? Carnell - the golden boy... I remember how they used to talk of you at Acheron."

It was the galaxy's most prestigious university, where only the cream of Federation students were sent for their higher education, in a narrow range of the most difficult, most esoteric subjects, where the finest young minds of the Federation studied for the Federation's future might. Avon had gone there, two years earlier than most.

Each year the University's most prestigious award was awarded to its most brilliant student. Two years running, Avon had taken it, almost without effort, and had expected to take it again; but to his confusion it was wrenched from his grasp by a new student - a rival from a discipline of psychostrategic humanities. Avon had never known his rival, had never seen him until the ceremony when for the first time he had had to sit far away in the background and watch another hold the cherished prize. Complacency, Avon had told himself grimly, had been his fault, and he had thrown himself into even greater effort for his final year. But the rival was not to be satisfied with second place, and for the very first time in the history of the university, the prize had to be shared...

Many thousands of students would gather in the Great Hall of Acheron, come from all over the University planet for the one occasion each year when they could meet together, have their Ceremony of Presentation, and then flood out into the Central Complex for junketings which lasted three days or more. It was the final event of the University year.

To Avon, not interested in parties nor in being crushed in a seething mass of humanity, the Ceremony had been all, the winning or the losing. Avon remembered his bitter defeat and the talk of the goldenhaired rival who pursued his studies and women with equal enthusiasm. How they'd been contrasted, these two: Carnell, a byword for light-hearted lechery, a brilliant scholar surrounded by brilliant friends; and Avon, cold, unapproachable, unsociable, pursing his life alone apart from a few valued, equally quiet associates.

They never mixed, these two, because their studies did not touch. But Avon heard of Carnell occasionally and knew there was a brilliant mind beneath the veneer of casual socialite. It was said that Carnell could out-debate anyone of his generation and others besides, could silence with occasional flashes of authority the most trying importuner, and could take on anyone in a fight. Avon supposed, acidly, that Carnell might well have to fight off angry husbands...or other hangers-on, all too often.

Oh, Avon had never forgotten him, that younger rival who had challenged him and stood equal with him in his final year, that immensely gifted student, a credit to the education system which had reared him; that student he came close to but once as they took their prize together and stood before the cheering multitude of their peers.

So, a clever man, a man worth knowing...but a man who had tried to kill Blake and take the Liberator. And a man who, in trying to kill Blake, might have killed Kerr Avon also. Avon did not like the thought of that at all. "Well," he exclaimed angrily, "was it you? Did you - set us up?"

Carnell's ready smile appeared again, but lightly, as thought it was not really heartfelt. "In a manner of speaking."

"A strategy," Avon grated, "for Servalan?"

"If you will think about it," Carnell said quietly, "you will see that I could not have refused."

"You're not one of her troopers. You're free..."

"Come now, is anyone free in the Federation, Avon? Why is Blake trying to start a revolution?"

"You admit it?" Blake demanded. "It's a brutal, oppressive system!"

But Carnell was not particularly interested in discussing the Federation's shortcomings just now. "She sent for me," he said to Avon, "and told me what she wanted. It would not have been...wise...to refuse. Nor would it have been wise to offer a strategy which could not accomplish what she wanted."

"Presumably," Blake said, "she wanted IMIPAK. And you were going to let her loose with that thing to murder and blackmail as she chose?"

Some of the anger had left Avon's face. He was staring at Carnell. "She would have used IMIPAK on you."

"If I let her."

"So it was up to you to get it away from her?"

"Of course. If I hadn't got it for her, someone else might...and she could not be allowed to keep it. Blake's future - or lack of it - was less important."

 _And mine too,_  Avon thought. It was a fair point, he supposed wryly. "But your strategy failed. She did not get the weapon."

"We know about that," Blake added. "My...clone...sent me a message. It...he told me he had been created by Servalan...or something like that. What did he mean?"

"He was copied, not created. He served a purpose in the strategy. Perhaps you should be glad, Blake, that something good has come of this," Carnell said.

"Good? How can you mean that?" Blake demanded.

"The replica and the bondslave have a new life together," Carnell explained patiently. "It is surely a better life for the slave and but for you the replica would have had no life at all. Isn't that 'something good'?"

"I suppose so," Blake admitted, rather unwillingly.

"Why did the strategy fail, Carnell?" Avon demanded. "How did you fail Servalan?"

"The failure was hers," Carnell replied shortly. "She is - unfortunately - too individualistic to keep to a strategy. She has to introduce variations. The slave girl was not kept under control and I was advised of it too late; but you can look on that as a blessing since otherwise you would both be dead. You can also be thankful to Servalan that she ignored my instructions and did not kill the girl when she discovered her with Coser, even though she knew it was essential Coser should be alone."

"So you'd still have killed us, but for Servalan!" Avon was less savage now, but still annoyed. "We've nothing to thank you for."

"You could have avoided the trap," Carnell told him coolly. "It was set for Blake...not for you."

"So how did you trap us?" Blake asked. "I don't see... Oh, of course, Orac."

"Orac is your prize and your weakness," Carnell replied. "It's your choice, you see."

"We have to decide which messages are genuine and which are not? Yes, it can be a problem."

"And you've been caught in the same way before," Carnell continued. "On Centero. But you did not see the similarities; you were not meant to."

"We could have done," Avon muttered. "It's a lesson we shall have to learn."

"We can't assume every message is a trap," Blake protested.

"But we can guard against tricks like this...can't we, Psychostrategist?" Avon said.

They came to a discreet place to eat. Blake noticed with interest how Carnell was immediately recognised and conducted with deference.  _Money,_  he thought,  _and naturally, heredity._  The man was an aristocrat, like Avon.

"Psychostrategy," Avon said thoughtfully, "is not an exact science. You will realise, Blake, that Carnell knows Servalan intimately... How intimately, Carnell?" He looked at Carnell, his dark eyes challenging.

Carnell stared back. "As intimately as analysis will allow."  _Do you really want to know more,_  his blue eyes demanded.  _Are you a voyeur?_

Avon looked away, frowning.

 

"He's who?" asked Vila, appalled. "Servalan's friend... Our murderer, near as makes no difference. Blake, you're off your head."

"I did try to explain," Blake insisted. "He's on the run from Servalan - no different to us now, in fact."

"Very different from Vila," Jenna said with a grin. Orac had produced for them Carnell's Federation record and Jenna had gazed at the representation of the golden-haired vision with open delight. "I'd go so far," she added nastily, "as to say there's no resemblance whatsoever between Vila and this Carnell."

"Apart from the fact that they are both human?" Blake suggested slyly.

"If you can call Vila human," Avon grunted predictably, earning a glare from the unfortunate Delta and a grin from Blake who had deliberately provoked the comment.

"He's told us," Blake said, getting back to the subject of Carnell, "that he did not work willingly for Servalan and that he was to remove IMIPAK from her and destroy it at all costs, so the man is not entirely conscienceless."

"More like he's just careful, like Avon," Vila muttered.

"He knows Servalan far better than we do," Blake continued. "He's studied her. He's worked in Space Command. He's been allowed access to secret files which even Orac cannot access. He'll have information which will be invaluable to us."

"What Blake is saying is that he's commissioning Carnell to work for us - whether the rest of us like it or not," Avon said tartly.

"Are you objecting, Avon?" Blake demanded irritably. "Are you going to refuse his help - just because you don't happen to like him?" And when Avon did not immediately respond, "Well?"

"You've already made up your mind," Avon retorted. "Nothing I say would make any difference...would it?"

"Probably not," Blake agreed, "and if you can't give any good reasons why I should not commission him..."

 _How can I give reasons,_  Avon thought angrily.  _How can I possibly explain why I don't want him here?_  And it was true enough, Carnell's data on Servalan could be useful. "I've told you!" he snapped. "Do what you like."

Blake shrugged. There was no point in talking to Avon when he was in this kind of a mood, and he had been in this kind of a mood ever since they'd returned from Skar. Blake supposed Avon would get over it eventually. "Very well," he said, "I'm commissioning Carnell to advise us on Servalan's personality, likely aims - especially with regard to us - and strategies for dealing with her; also on any information he can get for us about Central Control."

"Do you think he'll come?" Jenna asked. "If he was trying to destroy us not so long ago..."

"It was not personal," Blake said. "He's a businessman. If you pay him, he'll work for you - no more, no less."

On a sudden impulse, a need he could not explain - preferred not to explain - Avon recalled the likeness of Carnell to Zen's screen and stared at it. "Servalan could have planted him on us," he said.

"I think not," Blake replied. "I agree the man's devious - anyone of his profession must be, I suppose. He's very plausible, very glib... Do you think it's a trap, Avon?"

Avon was still staring at the screen. "If it's a trap," he said at last, slowly, "I don't think it's Servalan's trap."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 _He's studied us all,_  Avon thought.  _He'll know of my interest in chess. He'll guess that my companions can't challenge me seriously. He develops a variation that is bound to interest me, induces me to play it and proves he can beat me... He tells me disarmingly, probably quite honestly, that I should have stayed away from IMIPAK, that he did not seek to kill me...only Blake. Oh, it's not Servalan's trap, it's his, and it's not set for Blake._  But why? Or did he already know? "He's a strategist, Blake," he said. "Do you imagine we met him by chance?"

"I hadn't imagined otherwise. What are you trying to say, Avon?"

Suddenly Avon smiled his characteristic, mirthless smile. "He's probably angling for a fat fee," he said sardonically. "Out to get a little of Liberator's famed wealth... I don't think he intends to cheat us - at least, no more than he might cheat any client if it suits his purpose."

"So you're saying you approve - that we should employ him?"

"I'm saying I agree he might be useful to your Cause." But that was not his purpose, Avon knew. And if he'd calculated correctly what Carnell's purpose was, it did not bear thinking of; and the sooner Carnell knew that, the better.

Yet strangely, inexplicably, he sensed that Carnell was hesitant - almost driven to what he did. And perhaps because of that, solely because of that, Avon could agree he should come. "Yes," Avon said, "employ him. Bring him on to the Liberator and let's see what he can tell us."

 

If Blake had assumed Carnell would be at a loose end after fleeing from the Federation, he soon discovered otherwise. On contacting Carnell's home, he was advised that the Psychostrategist was 'away' and would not return for at least two weeks, was exceedingly busy but would attend to Blake's request as soon as possible.

"Probably another strategy - to keep us on the hop," Avon muttered sarcastically, but he was surprised. He had expected Carnell would follow up what Avon saw as his strategy immediately.

Blake fretted about the delay, but since he had made the decision to employ Carnell he decided to wait. For, if nothing else, he was hoping Carnell would have some information about Central Control and therefore two or three wasted weeks near Skar might prove better than many more wasted weeks following false leads around the galaxy. And at last, after nearly three weeks, Blake received a brief message from Carnell stating that he could fit in what he called 'Initial Consultation'. Accordingly, Blake arranged to teleport Carnell from Skar.

"I'll go and get him," Blake said at the appointed time, starting for the teleport room.

"No," Avon said, "I will," and strode past before Blake had time to protest. Blake stared after him in surprise for a moment, then followed him to operate the teleport.

"If you're sure..." Blake remarked as Avon took a teleport bracelet for himself and another for Carnell.

"I'm sure. Put me down."

Blake obeyed. Avon found himself in an elegant drawing room with sunlight streaming through wide windows. Carnell was standing by the windows, looking out. "Such a lovely day," he remarked without turning. "Welcome, Avon."

"You knew I'd come?"

"Of course. You could not resist the temptation - could you?" Carnell turned now to face him.

"Then obviously I should have done."

"You thought of that and still decided to come. It was very predictable." Carnell's eyes glinted with amusement. "Does it annoy you - that I am right."

"It annoys me that you are trying to manipulate me."

"Am I?"

"Don't prevaricate!" Avon exclaimed. "Why are you...pursuing me?"

"Ah. Think of it as curiosity. We were rivals once. I followed your trial with interest - and a degree of sympathy, I would add. You were unfortunate. But for one careless relationship, you would have succeeded: do you know that?"

"No," Avon replied. "I was never told how they found me out."

"Avon!" It was Blake's voice through the teleport bracelets. "Are you ready to come up yet?"

"No," Avon replied. "Five minutes, Blake... I'll advise you." He switched off his communicator and looked back at Carnell.

"It's so easy," Carnell said, "to ruin a fine stratagem. One of your casual acquaintances was involved with a revolutionary group. Unfortunately, a security agent had infiltrated it. Your acquaintance - a woman who desired you, I suspect - talked carelessly about you. It was no more than that... So Security checked you out - routine. They noticed your extreme devotion to your work. They realised you were in a position to access information which might be of use to revolutionaries. From then it was only a matter of time until they picked up some anomaly or other you'd introduced, an anomaly which they doubtless would never have registered if they hadn't been watching you."

"There are limits," Avon said, "to what can be disguised. So...you are curious about me. What else?"

"Does there have to be anything else?"

"I think there is. You have gone to a great deal of trouble just because of a little curiosity."

"Perhaps I have nothing better to do."

"Does that mean you are not going to tell me?" Avon demanded.

Carnell moved away from the window and came to stand in front of Avon. "You've noticed the ruse to get you to Skar. What else have you deduced?"

"What else?" Avon frowned. "Are you telling me there's another stratagem?"

"Think about it."

"I have thought about why you should want to bring me here. I don't believe your interest is primarily in Blake. Your attention has been directed at me, no matter what Blake might think."

"Go on."

"You expected me to spot your 'ruse'?"

"Obviously: once you understood the matter of IMIPAK."

"You said that I should not have gone with Blake to get the weapon. Why do you think I should have stayed away?"

"Your train of thought is wrong," Carnell said. "Look at it again."

"Why do you think I decided to go, is that it?"

"Better. Go on..."

"You said you did not seek to kill me, only Blake. You don't care about Blake. Presumably you disapprove of revolutionaries?"

"I considered him a nuisance. I was asked to get rid of him. It was no more than that."

"You felt I should have realised we were being fed information about Coser and the Weapons Base? No - that's wrong... You said we were not intended to notice we were being tricked. So why should I have stayed away from Coser?"

Carnell smiled at him. "Self-preservation?"

"But self-preservation would just as easily drive me to investigate. I believe your point is that it was not necessary for both of us to go."

"Good!" Carnell said. "You did not know what IMIPAK was: we made sure of that. Someone had to find out. So?"

Avon's mouth twisted into a sudden grin. "Of course. It could have killed us both before we could leave the planet. You are telling me that as I am the only other person on Liberator capable of leading, I should not have risked my life. But...I have done so before."

"Before...you were not up against me, Avon. And you should have been able to predict - looking at Servalan's increasing anxiety to be rid of you all - that there would come a time when you would meet your match. Remember, my strategy failed through Servalan's failure, not yours. And now it will be even harder for you to avoid her; she'll have been disciplined, and not for the first time, over Blake's continued existence."

"So, you are telling me we have become careless. Your first strategy, the obvious one which you expected me to notice eventually, was merely to get me or us to Skar. The second is to demonstrate my carelessness: a homily?"

"No," Carnell said, "although that certainly follows. The second is to demonstrate to you how to analyse the future...or perhaps I should say, how to analyse it more effectively."

"We have Orac," Avon said. "You must know something of Orac since you used it to trap us. Orac's powers of analysis are formidable."

"So I am told," Carnell agreed, "but ultimately, Orac is only a machine."

"I accept," Avon said, "that you can be useful to us. I accept that Orac's deductions can be enhanced by your understanding of human nature. I accept I could learn much from you. But none of this explains why..." He hesitated. But he knew why, and did not wish to know.

"Come," Carnell said into the silence, "let us go up to your ship."

 

"What I need," Blake informed Carnell when they were all seated on the flight deck, "is a strategy to discover Central Control and destroy it: that's the most important thing. Also, I want as much information as you can give me on Servalan, Travis, and anyone else you can think of who might threaten us in the future. Finally, you hinted that you could help us to monitor Federation data more effectively."

"That's all, is it?" Carnell enquired lightly. "You couldn't think of a few more dilemmas for me to solve?"

"Certainly!" Blake was nettled. "If that's not enough for you to get on with, how about a strategy to galvanise ordinary people to fight their oppressors?"

Vila grinned. He was beginning, against all his expectations, to like this man. Somehow, Carnell was not at all the kind of grim Federation lackey he had expected.

"Why not?" Carnell murmured. "A full-scale revolution, Federation-wide and beyond, totally co-ordinated to further your Cause. It should be easy."

Vila's grin widened. Yes, he definitely liked this man. He stared at Carnell and Carnell met his stare and smiled back.

"Three days, you said," Blake continued, "for the - er - Initial Consultation. What happens after that?"

"I return to my home, analyse further, consult my sources...and then give you my conclusions based on current data. You are asking for long-term strategies and if you want my advice to be effective you should consult me frequently. That you may prefer not to do. For the moment, we will keep to the basic requirement."

 _Firmly put in our places,_  Vila thought.

They gave Carnell Gan's cabin as it was the only one spare. Blake told him frankly of Gan's death and how it had happened, and Carnell merely nodded, not commenting on the facts. He had, of course, received data on the matter from his sources long before. "Don't worry," he said. "If ghosts there are, Gan's ghost won't haunt me."

Blake left him then and he sat at Gan's desk and stared reflectively at the little row of books Gan had left behind. Sad, he thought, so wasted...a life which should never have been lost.

He'd analysed already that Blake would have been made slightly unstable by Gan's death and he could see now that Blake was overstressed. It would cause problems for Avon, certainly more even than Avon might imagine already.  _So whatever you might feel about my motives, Avon,_  he thought,  _you certainly need my advice._

When he was ready, he returned to the flight deck. Jenna and Cally were there and Jenna looked at him with frank interest. He smiled at her lightly. "May I talk to you now?"

"Of course," she replied. "In my cabin," she added meaningfully, and he supposed that normally he would have been delighted to pursue her obvious hint.

He felt Cally watching him.  _Oh no,_  he thought, half-rueful, half-irritated,  _not both of them..._  Lusty women were all very well when one wanted them, but just now he did not. "Here will do very well," he said coolly to Jenna, who pouted slightly.

From Jenna, he required a great deal of information about the Liberator and its capabilities, and after a while she remarked that she sincerely hoped he would not go straight to Servalan next. He shook his head, and continued the questioning, turning now to her assessment of Blake and Blake's ideals, and then finally to Blake's need to find Central Control.

"Tell me," Jenna said, "do you know where it is? You didn't comment when Blake mentioned it."

"No," he replied. "So far as I am aware, no-one knows, not even the President himself." Then he turned his attention to Cally. "I know you are on watch..."

"I'm not busy - as you can see."

She was, he noticed, awkward with him: not excessively so but enough that he was bound to notice. He asked her extensively about her telepathic powers, which he could see might be useful to Blake, and then about her views on freedom-fighting in general.  _She's as much a fanatic as Blake,_  he thought, confirming the impression he'd had of her previously from a distance. "So you can't return to Auron?" he queried. "That's unfortunate for a telepath. It must leave you isolated."

"Yes." She dropped her eyes, her face sad.

"You suffer a kind of loneliness that we humans cannot understand?"

"Loneliness is our horror...a perpetual nightmare. To die alone and silent is the worst fate we can envisage."

She would have liked to talk about her fears but he led the conversation back to Blake, and she had the impression he did not wish to have any kind of intimate discussion with her. She felt deeply hurt. She spoke to him more coldly now, almost abruptly. He felt vaguely sorry for her but no more: he was not in the mood for her emotions, nor for Jenna's flirtatious encouragement. "Enough for now," he said when he'd got the data he wanted for the moment. "I expect I'll have some more questions for you both later." And as he walked off the flight deck, he could sense both the women watching him with open disappointment.

He'd intended to question Blake next but suspected Blake might be sleeping, resting before his night watch. He looked thoughtfully at Avon's cabin door, then went on to Vila's which was standing open. He knocked on the wall to arouse Vila's attention.

Vila was delighted to talk and this time Carnell was delighted to listen, recognising that Vila could probably tell him more than all the others put together about the tensions and emotions that held these rebels together...and the quarrels that must surface now and again. And he was fascinated, not just because the background information was vital to the project but also because Vila liked to talk of Avon...Avon's interests, Avon's prejudices, Avon's chilly humour and savage criticisms of Blake; even the times when Avon and Blake stood together and then, as Vila said, were a formidable pair too strong for any of the others to resist. "Blake does lead us," Vila said, "but Avon's a powerful influence over him. No-one likes to cross Avon."

It was clear that Vila respected Avon above all the others, even if he might like Blake a little more...and in spite of Avon's endless carping about Vila's faults. "I don't mind so much," Vila confided. "It's his background, you see. To him, Deltas are no more than slaves. If someone's going to insult me, I prefer it if they have reason. I mean - no-one on Liberator is as clever as Avon. He gets so bored with us when we make mistakes, because he so rarely does himself. I expect he'd say he never does, but he'd have to, wouldn't he? No - that's wrong. There's no comparison with his mistakes and mine, for a start! I expect you feel the same as he does but you don't show it in the same way."

"Do I show it at all?"

"Yes," Vila said, "you do. When you came on board, Jenna was ogling you from the start and you ignored her. I'd have thought you'd respond - how could anyone resist her - but I could tell you were annoyed. You didn't want that kind of approach from her then - nor from Cally, who looked so soulful. I expect Cally will fall in love with you: you're just the type she'd go for."

"Yes," Carnell said. There was no point in denying it. "Do you imagine I intended my - irritation - to show?"

"Of course you did. Puppeteers aren't that careless. If they're as good as you are supposed to be, they aren't really careless at all."

"No-one's perfect," Carnell said.

"Of course not. Avon's not perfect. I mean, look at his prickly personality! And you're very friendly outwardly but you don't tell us much about yourself. All your questions are aimed at finding out about  **us**. Does anyone know you really well, Carnell?"

"Only some of my colleagues. A psychostrategist is trained to manipulate, not to be manipulated by others. If I reveal myself, I can't manipulate freely... Blake seeks to manipulate others. Do you think he succeeds?"

"Well," Vila said knowingly, "he's managed to manipulate Avon, so far."

"Perhaps Avon is willing to be manipulated?"

"I've thought of that. Avon goes along with Blake while it suits him. There's the ship and all that wealth in the strongrooms. Money brings freedom and that's the kind of freedom Avon wants, isn't it! It's what sent him on his way to Cygnus Alpha. I'm sure he'd like to have the ship."

"I imagine almost anyone would like to have Liberator," Carnell smiled.

"Not me! I couldn't manage it by myself. I'd rather have my own pleasure planet."

"Suppose you had to choose between Blake and Avon," Carnell said. "Which of them would you choose to follow?"

"I wish I knew how to answer that," Vila replied. "Mostly I prefer to do what Blake says, but then it's usually Blake giving out the orders with Avon not exactly following but putting up with it. The others do what Blake says, so I suppose I'd go along with Blake."

"So imagine the others aren't there, just you faced with Blake and Avon opposing one another. What then?"

"Oh, then I'd follow Avon; no doubt about it."

It was exactly as Carnell had expected. "Tell me why."

"Because I trust him," Vila explained, "and because I admire him; and also because I think he needs me and Blake doesn't."

"Blake has his Cause," Carnell said. "He doesn't need anyone most of the time, just followers and allies in general. But if he ever did need anyone - who would it be, Vila?"

"Avon," Vila said simply, "who else? It's what makes him put up with Avon no matter how much Avon annoys him. He needs Avon just as I need Avon. Sometimes Avon must find that infuriating."

"Yes," Carnell said gravely, "I imagine he does."

 

No-one particularly enjoyed the night watches except Avon, who appreciated them simply because he would be left in peace. Blake was certainly glad to be rid of his lonely stint and to hand over to Avon, who appeared at 6 am looking his usual impassive self and fully awake in spite of the hour. "Thank goodness that's over!" Blake said. "Enjoy your watch."

"So long as no-one comes near me, I probably shall," Avon retorted rather peevishly.

"Has Carnell talked to you yet?" Blake called back as he started on his way to the Mess.

"No," Avon replied. He waited until Blake's footsteps had receded into the distance and then went across to Orac, laying his fingertips lightly on the plasteel casing. "Orac," he said, "I want some information about Psychostrategist Carnell. Is it possible to access the files of the Institute of Psychostrategic Studies?"

+I have already told you...+

"You have already told me that you had been unable to do so. I am asking whether you are now able to do so?"

Orac appeared to sigh. +There is little point...+

"Try again," Avon said insistently, "and do it right away, Orac." And then he had the distinct sensation he was being watched. He swung round abruptly.

"I am pleased to discover Orac is having trouble with the Institute computers," Carnell said. "But since I am here - why don't you ask me whatever it is you want to know?" For once he was not smiling.

"How do I know," Avon asked him, "that you would tell me the truth?"

"You can't know, unless you'd accept my word."

"And that," Avon said, "would depend on what I asked you, no doubt? As it happens, I wanted to see your Institute file - all of it."

"It's very long," Carnell said, "and much of it would bore you. Aren't you going to be selective?" Still he did not smile.

"Perhaps." It was Avon who smiled, sardonically. "Why don't you tell Orac how to get at it? If you're willing to answer my questions..."

"Giving Orac the security passwords would give it access to other files. You can't ask that of me."

"Well," Avon said, "it was worth a try." Then Carnell did smile at last, and Avon felt a strange sense of relief, as though for a moment he had been estranged from a friend and then the friend had extended his hand.

"As it happens," Carnell said, "there's nothing much I'd need to conceal from you."

"But," Avon replied, "I'm not sure what to ask."

At that Carnell laughed. "I can solve the problem," he said, "but not here."

"Using your own machines?"

"Obviously. But you still haven't told me why."

"You," Avon countered shortly, "haven't told me why you are...pursuing me."

"I don't need to tell you. You've worked it out for yourself."

"And I was hoping I was wrong!" Avon flashed. "I don't welcome that kind of approach, Carnell."

"Don't you?" Carnell murmured. "Why do you want to see my file?"

"Curiosity?" Avon retorted tartly.

"Touché!" Carnell smiled again and then walked across to Orac. "Blake's given me permission to use your precious machine. Do you object to me questioning it now?"

"You can question it but it may decide it's too occupied with its own rivetting investigations to waste time on your trivial queries," Avon replied acidly.

"Like that, is it? How diverting!"

"When your life's at stake, it's not at all diverting."

"Ensor was said to be a difficult man," Carnell commented. "Orac: are you going to talk to me?"

+Please be specific!+ Orac snapped predictably.

"Delightful," Carnell said, and launched into a lengthy series of questions.

Avon sat back and listened, leaving aside for once the programme of work he'd been dealing with. It was a pleasure to find someone else who could question a computer in a proper, sane and logical fashion. Some of the questions seemed rather irrelevant, he thought, but he supposed he would see their purpose eventually. Perhaps Carnell would explain them to him later. And Orac answered everything without further argument.

Over the next two days, Carnell questioned Avon and Blake and returned repeatedly to Orac, chatted to Vila once in a while, and then disappeared into his cabin and was not seen for hours.

To Blake, he was both interesting and vaguely unsettling, with a habit of asking questions which Blake found difficult or faintly embarrassing to answer, and sometimes Blake felt the questions were distinctly hostile. When he eventually said so, Carnell pointed out reasonably enough that he could not assess from a distance, that he had to know his subjects intimately, and when Blake insisted that some of the questions could not possibly have any bearing on fighting the Federation, Carnell merely commented coolly that he had his reasons for asking but Blake could always refuse to answer....although Blake would realise that Carnell would put his own interpretation on such refusals. So Blake answered, rather resentfully, and brooded about it afterwards.

To Avon, Carnell was a continual unsettling influence. He was one of the few individuals Avon had ever met who could challenge him intellectually and there was so much, Avon knew, they could learn from and give to one another...if only Carnell would stop looking at him as though... Avon had, to be sure, suffered such advances in the past, for he was a good-looking man and clearly appealed to some other men, but he'd always been able to send them away shaken and dejected, perhaps even furious at his savage sarcasm or icy indifference. But Carnell could not, Avon knew, be shaken, Carnell was as strong as Avon himself, and Carnell was too intelligent and too percipient to take any violent or cruel words as rejection. Carnell the psychoanalyst could look past anger and see...what? If Avon rejected him with hard words, Carnell would say that Avon was immature. If Avon rejected him with cold logic, Carnell would indicate that Avon was denying himself unnecessarily and use equal logic to argue that Avon should investigate his own emotional responses.

For the uncomfortable truth was that Avon, for all his resentment, was aware that he was not indifferent to Carnell, had from that first moment their eyes met on Acheron had been quite other than indifferent...and Carnell knew it. And these facts appalled Avon in spite of all the cold logic he tried to apply to his emotions. Proud, repressed but always seeing himself as almost aggressively heterosexual in the past, Avon could not accept emotionally what he saw logically, so he fought against it whilst seeing logically that rejection was illogical. His confusion showed in his variable attitude to Carnell: welcoming, even eager when Carnell kept to intellectual discussion, and coldly sarcastic if Carnell's gaze was ever anything other than blandly casual. There was going to come a time, Avon knew without a doubt, when Carnell would try and force him to talk about it, and he had not the slightest idea how he was to respond. He could not - surely could not - give what Carnell wanted him to give.

To Jenna, Carnell was a perpetual frustration: friendly, charming, equable of temper, utterly desirable yet utterly elusive. She could not for the life of her understand why this attractive, obviously experienced man did not accept her blatant invitations. And it had to be said that her failure to get him infuriated her as she rather longed to play him off against Blake who had visited her bed occasionally but not nearly as often as she'd wanted, nor with the kind of enthusiasm she expected of a man. Since Blake was the only man on Liberator near enough to her idea of a lover, Avon being physically far more attractive yet too irritatingly offensive to endure and Vila quite beneath her socially, Jenna was all the more annoyed at Carnell's indifference. She wished she dared ask him why he rejected her, yet sensed he would not stand for such a question in spite of all his bland friendliness. In his way, Carnell could at times be as coldly remote as Avon, although he did not show it outwardly.

Vila watched them all with interest and Cally with compassion as he saw her so clearly sinking more and more with every moment in love with Carnell. _It's useless,_  he thought sadly,  _quite useless._  Vila could see that Carnell had not the slightest interest in Cally although he was invariably pleasant to her. He never sought her company except when he had to question her about Blake or Blake's Cause, never showed the kind of attention a woman wanted from a lover. Vila suspected that Carnell found Cally's anxious, barely-hidden longing tedious yet he was too experienced, too sensible, perhaps too compassionate to show it...and also too compassionate to encourage her by showing her any special attention, even if he might have liked to talk to her impersonally. For he must, Vila thought, have wanted to question an alien about...almost anything.

The only person Carnell went to for conversation or any kind of relaxation was Avon, and Vila imagined that was not in the least surprising, especially when he learned by chance when listening to them talking that they had been together at Acheron. It was nice, Vila thought, for Avon to have a proper friend to talk to. Yet, was it friendship? Vila observed the strangely ambiguous relationship with fascination.

For himself, Vila simply liked and admired Carnell and wished he had Carnell's abilities and Carnell's training. Vila could quite see the attractions of being a psychostrategist...well, some of the time anyway.

Blake, meanwhile, had not been totally unobservant, for his own problems did not render him blind and he had also guessed that Cally was emotionally attached to Carnell. He found this vaguely unsettling, not because he wanted her for himself but because he did not particularly like the air of romantic intrigue now around the ship. It had always been reasonably sane before - Blake thought. Some fleeting relationships might have taken place, indeed had with himself with both the women now and again, but nothing...nothing torrid. He supposed Jenna might have submitted to Avon since it was obvious Avon found her physically attractive. But since Carnell's arrival, 'torrid' was a word Blake found himself applying more and more to Liberator's crew. There was Jenna flaunting her lust for the man. There was Cally mooning after him. Suppose Carnell was indulging them both - Blake did not put it past him: he looked the type who'd happily have two or even more women on the go at the same time. But surely Cally wouldn't like that, even if Jenna would stand for it. Or would Carnell even tell them? And then there was Carnell's blatant - there was no other word for it - preference for Avon's company...and possibly wanting a good deal more than that; worse, Avon did not appear to complain nor reject him. Imagine: if the pair of them had...!

At breakfast the next day, Blake found himself alone with Carnell and simply could not resist the temptation to try and find out just what was going on; not out of curiosity, he assured himself sanctimoniously, but for the sake of the smooth running of the ship. Torrid emotions simply could not be allowed on a fighting ship.

"You do seem," he remarked conversationally, "to be out to create a drama here." He helped himself to marmalade and spread it liberally on his buttered toast. "Both the women after you... Do you have the time? Jenna seems to regard you as her personal possession."

"And if I should slight her, do you think she'd incite a brawl?" Carnell enquired, looking amused.

"You may think it's none of my business."

"Is it?" Carnell asked, very offhand.

"Yes, it is. I have to think of the ship. I don't want to interfere with your amusements but..."

Carnell felt a perverse desire to annoy Blake. It was not particularly politic but there, you couldn't be serious all the time and Blake was being distinctly pompous. "Then don't interfere," he suggested. "I expect I can keep them both under control."

"Both?" Blake suddenly looked rather grim. "Don't you mean 'all'?"

 _So that's what it's about,_  Carnell thought.  _He's not worried about the women but about my interest in Avon._  Yes, it made sense. It confirmed what Carnell had suspected. "Both," he said firmly and totally untruthfully, provocatively.

"I have this idea," Blake said carefully, "that you've quite another interest. I could be wrong. I hope I am. In fact, I wouldn't have thought you the type to want..." He hesitated.

Blake was not, Carnell had noticed, unobservant when it came to the emotions of others; indeed, he was more sensitive than Jenna or Cally who did not yet appear to have noticed Carnell's interest in Avon. "You hadn't expected me to want a man," he said bluntly. It would be better, he decided, to get the matter into the open. It would help him with his study of Blake and the obvious confirmation now that Blake too had an undue interest in Avon.

"It's not so unusual," Blake said. "I've seen men eyeing Avon before, but you... I admit I'm surprised."

"All aspects of human nature interest me," Carnell commented, pretending to be evasive.

"So you're merely observing his reactions, are you? I thought it was more a matter of passion on your side."

Carnell felt no desire whatsoever to actually discuss his interest in Avon; indeed, he was annoyed Blake should even mention the matter. Still, he supposed he'd have to hedge around it in order to get anything useful out of Blake. "Whatever Avon may want, I'd...consider," he said.

"I can't imagine Avon ever wanting anything like that!" Blake retorted. "He never goes for men - that's a fact."

"In that case, there's no problem - is there?"

"Avon doesn't like interference in his private life," Blake said pointedly.

"I see," Carnell said. "You are warning me off. You object to me showing a preference."

"With both the women after you...and heaven knows what you've been up to with them already...and now you are provoking Avon... It will lead to trouble, Carnell. I employed you to produce strategies, not to disrupt the ship."

"So there were no disruptions before, is that what you are telling me?"

"Most certainly it is."

"No arguments, no tensions?" Carnell looked amused again. "Paradisiacal, was it?"

"You know what I mean!" Blake exclaimed, annoyed at Carnell's obvious sarcasm. "No...sexual tensions."

"Definitely paradisiacal then," Carnell murmured. "Sexual tensions are so trying."

"How right you are," Blake said shortly.

"Inconvenient," Carnell continued. "Positively undesirable at all times. So much better to have passionless, practical physical relationships - functional to release those irrational lusts which impair the performance of the fighting man...or woman. Sexual release is infuriatingly necessary now and then - but don't let's enjoy it too much, for heaven's sake."

Blake looked at Carnell suspiciously. "Enjoyment - practical enjoyment - is all very well," he snapped, "but what I am objecting to is the atmosphere of lurid passion which seems to hang around the Liberator now that you are here. It is not, Carnell, what I am paying you for, and I hope you'll take due note of that."

Only his excellent acting ability prevented Carnell from dissolving into helpless laughter. "I have not set out to seduce Jenna or Cally," he pointed out when he could trust himself to speak. "And Avon is, as you have said yourself, unforthcoming. I shall return to Skar tomorrow. Don't you think you can survive one more day of my - er - lust for Avon?"

"What worries me," Blake said, "is that I have this...instinct, I suppose...that you yourself aren't quite coping with the situation."

 _Damn you!_  Carnell thought.  _How did you notice that - or am I being unusually careless? But I will not discuss my emotions with you..._  "Perhaps you are - just possibly - wrong?" he suggested, his voice noticeably colder than usual.

"Carnell..." Blake commenced earnestly, happier now he felt he had the other man at a disadvantage, and then cursed under his breath as the door of the Mess hissed open. Blake was sitting with his back to the door but could tell instantly, from Carnell's momentarily unshuttered expression, that it was Avon who had come in. Blake watched silently as Avon collected his food, sat - noticeably far from both of them - and with no more than a curt, perfunctory greeting, set about eating.  _He's hurrying,_  Blake thought.  _He's keen to get away. And Carnell's doing the opposite, waiting for me to go. He'll be unlucky._

But Carnell had learned what he wanted to know from Blake and was determined to be rid of him; and for once, rarely in his life, he lost his temper. "Well, Blake," he said, viciously provocative, "what would you like next? A performance?"

Avon's head jerked up and he stared with angry suspicion - not at Carnell, but at Blake. "What the hell...?"

Blake got angrily to his feet. "Perhaps I was wrong after all," he snarled at Avon. "Perhaps you do fancy him...is that it? Damn it, what is this place - a brothel?" He turned on his heel and made for the door. He felt Avon's eyes boring into his back and then Carnell started, infuriatingly, insultingly, to laugh.

The door hissed to. Carnell's laugh faded abruptly. He looked at Avon. "Well," he said, rather grimly, "do you want to know what all that was about?"

"Not particularly," Avon muttered, coldly repressive. He gave the impression of being disappointed that Carnell had not left with Blake.

"You should," Carnell said. "He's noticed - not surprisingly - that I'm after you, and has had the cheek to tell me he doesn't like it."

"Really?" Avon said icily. "I can tell you I don't like it either, Carnell."

"Don't you?" Carnell's voice became soft, intimate. "Convince me."

Somehow, Avon had expected the first approach to be somewhere embarrassingly, almost coyly private. The Mess, Carnell's toast and marmalade and his own bacon and eggs hardly constituted a romantic milieu, he thought wryly. "You know what I think!" he snapped. "Let that be an end to it."

"You know it can't!" Carnell exclaimed roughly, startling Avon by the sudden violence in his tone. Violence from Carnell was so rare, so much more unsettling than his usual bland sophistication. "Damn it, Avon, do you think I intended this to happen? Do you think I find it easy to accept, even with all my training?"

"How would I know?" Avon said distantly. "I know nothing of your...proclivities."

"My proclivities are the same as yours," Carnell retorted. "I don't particularly go for men. Nor have you, until now."

"Nor have I, period!" Avon snapped, angered immediately by the only too embarrassingly apt implication.

"Until now," Carnell repeated more gently. "Face it, Avon, as I've had to do. There's no point in suffering..."

"Suffering!" Frustration, embarrassment and downright disbelief at his own ludicrous emotional confusion were too much for Avon and he also lost his temper. "If you come near me, if you so much as attempt to touch me, if you even talk to me about this again, I'll..."

"You'll...what?" Carnell was on his feet now, leaning with both hands on the bench and staring across at Avon. "What will you do, Avon? What canyou do? I'm not Vila - you can't intimidate me. I'm not Blake - you can't destroy me with sarcasm or make me cringe when you pass out homilies about heroism. I'm as strong as you, as ruthless as you. Try me and see, Avon."

Avon looked up at Carnell for a moment, and then away back to his food. "I can hurt you," he said flatly. "If you...love me, then you can be hurt." Angrily, he attacked a slice of bacon.

"Are you really tasting that?" Carnell demanded. "Yes, I can be hurt...but so can you. It's mutual, isn't it, the hurting...and the love."

Abruptly, Avon dropped his knife and fork, making them land with a clatter on the plate. He pushed away the plate and laid both hands flat in front of him on the bench. "I'm leaving the Mess and returning to my cabin," he said. "Don't...just don't follow me."

"Love," Carnell repeated and, reaching out, seized Avon's wrist. "Admit it - for once, admit that you can love. Avon..."

Avon was on his feet as well, now. He stared down at his wrist and then across at Carnell. "Let me go."

"No," Carnell said, smiling suddenly but without humour. "Think about it, Avon. You know my reputation. Suppose I tried to force you?"

Avon's eyes darkened, but not with anger. He felt a maddening, burning desire to surrender. The desire dismayed and embarrassed him more than all the dismay and embarrassment he'd suffered before. "But you wouldn't force me," he said savagely, "because if you love me...you can't use force, Carnell."

"Ah..." Carnell sighed, and released Avon's wrist. He sat down again and fiddled with the piece of toast remaining on his plate. "So how do I get you, fascinating, elusive, strange man that you are? Wouldn't it be nice if you could tell me?"

Suddenly Avon found that his hands were shaking. He tried to still them but could not. "Perhaps...you could use reason."

"Reason?" Carnell looked up at him sardonically. "Such as that the physical release would be good for us? Of course it would - but that alone won't satisfy me now, nor you. Reason is no longer enough."

Avon picked up his plate. With his hands still shaking, it seemed inordinately heavy and difficult to manage and he was ridiculously afraid of losing the cutlery off the side. Irritably, he threw the whole lot down the disposal chute, then walked to the door, and Carnell watched him silently. At the door Avon paused and then seemed to come to a decision. He turned back towards Carnell. "I can't give in to you," he said. "Surely you - of all people - can understand that, Carnell?"

Carnell stared back at him, pain in his blue eyes. "And I - of all people - hoped that you could - to me. You wanted to hurt me. You've succeeded beyond your wildest dreams. Does that please you, Avon?"

 _He speaks my name as though it's a caress,_  Avon thought inconsequentially. "No," he said, answering Carnell's question with complete honesty, "it doesn't please me at all. In hurting you...I hurt myself." Then he opened the door and walked deliberately away.

 

### CHAPTER TWO

Bad temper, Carnell thought ruefully as he went back to Gan's cabin,  _is not the answer to anything..._  but there, it had served at the time and he supposed it had relieved his feelings for a few moments if nothing else. Certainly it had got rid of Blake, who had obviously been determined to hang around and watch what Carnell might try to get up to with Avon. Carnell could well imagine how Blake might react if bluntly told the likely reason for his reactions; so Blake could not be told...but Avon could, if it proved necessary. Perhaps he had already guessed?

Carnell had never really seen himself as bisexual, although he'd been ordered during his training to experiment with all kinds of sexual experience. But he'd never been involved emotionally with men, nor sought men out for love. He could seduce a man if he chose, had done so, but had always stood back mentally, detached and merely interested in the other man's passion and his own physical responses. But he was not detached now, when he looked at Avon, imagined Avon responding to him, imagined Avon...Avon.

As a psychoanalyst, he'd been taught to accept all human behaviour as cases for study. Nothing was too appalling or too erotic...or even too plain dull...to be ignored. What did Avon think now when desire for Carnell threatened to overcome him? This Carnell wanted to know...needed to know. But he must be careful. Avon was confused, poised for flight if Carnell presumed too far on his self-respect. If Carnell chased too hard, Avon would repel him mercilessly...and perhaps retreat from him for ever.

Still, there was no point in fretting about it now. He must put his emotions out of his mind for the moment and concentrate on Blake's project. He'd arranged for a meeting of the whole crew on the flight deck and must conduct it to the maximum effect. Passionate confrontations with Avon would have to wait.

 

They watched him as he walked on to the flight deck half-an-hour later. Slim yet strong, proud of bearing, clothing dark but indefinably flamboyant, picked out in royal blue and gold which enhanced the already dazzling gold of his hair, he was imposing, Vila thought, as he strode past them all and stood near Zen's quietly flashing fascia. To Blake he was a man to be wary of, a little mysterious, unpredictable - which Blake thought was a rather frustrating paradox. Cally and Jenna, both entranced in their different ways, simply stared at him with delight. And Avon's face was shuttered and remote, and when he watched Carnell walk by it was without turning his head nor showing any particular sign that he'd even noticed the other man, apart from the fact that Carnell sensed immediately Avon's tension and could not help but respond in the same way himself.

Carnell had, Avon knew, arranged a simple visual program with Orac. The screen suddenly came to life and then a dazzling likeness of Servalan appeared. "Beautiful, isn't she," Carnell said, "and deadly." He looked at Avon, who looked back, knowing that Carnell would not make a emotional approach now. "I predict," Carnell continued, "that Servalan will not for much longer see Blake as her prime enemy."

"Has she ever?" Avon asked, hiding a sudden apprehension. "Is Blake that important?"

"As it happens, yes - not so much because of what he is but because what his followers would like him to be. Rebels need a figurehead and the Liberator - not Blake - provides it."

"So the Liberator is our prime asset?" Blake said. "I suppose that's to be expected."

"And the implication," Avon added, "is that it hardly matters who...owns it?"

"That is so," Carnell agreed.

"So," queried Vila, hitting the main point right on the head, "who is going to take over from Blake - and why should anyone need to?"

"Can Blake face anyone else taking over?" Avon countered nastily. His apprehension increased, and he felt an irrational desire to ensure that Carnell did not answer Vila's question directly.

But Vila wasn't having that. "You haven't answered my question," he said to Carnell.

"There are some things I cannot or will not tell you," Carnell replied. "This is one."

"Carnell," Blake said, "we have paid you for strategies and now you are suggesting that I shall...disappear? You can't leave it like that."

"You are making a great drama out of this," Carnell countered coolly. "Let us consider some of the possibilities. Blake could disappear, or he could go away of his own free will from Liberator. He might find a better ship, or make a base on a planet, decide to lead his revolution from the head of some army which cannot include the Liberator. He could even go to Earth and lead the revolution from there. There is no particular reason to imagine he would die."

"You said," Vila persisted, "that Servalan would no longer see Blake as her prime enemy. Surely that suggests Blake had disappeared?"

"Or," Carnell replied, "that Servalan's priorities had changed."

"You mean that she could side with Blake, for example...against us?" Vila's eyes widened. "Could that really happen?"

Carnell smiled at him. "Drama indeed. It doesn't sound at all likely to me."

"You've started this discussion with what might call a bombshell," Blake said to Carnell. "I suppose you have a purpose?"

"Obviously. However, let us proceed to Travis." Behind him the screen produced a particularly savage likeness of Travis and Carnell caught the flash of rage in Blake's eyes. "He is not merely an enemy, Blake."

"He's a personal enemy!" Blake snapped. "He murdered my friends. He is trying to kill me."

"I know. You would be expected to detest him. But you were and are a rebel and he was carrying out his duty as he saw it. You cannot expect him to like you. And it must be said that you are unduly sensitive about the number of friends you have lost."

"That's a pretty casual way to put it!" Blake said hotly. "I don't like..."

"One has to be dispassionate," Carnell said firmly and waited for a moment until Blake had calmed down. "Now," he continued, "Travis. He is more of a danger than Servalan at the moment. Why?" He looked at Avon.

"Because Blake can't kill him," Avon replied with a snide grin.

"Why again?"

"Blake says," Vila interposed, "that it's better the enemy you know... I'd prefer the enemy I know to be dead, frankly."

"It's a fair argument," Carnell said. "The question is, is it true - in Blake's case?"

All eyes turned to Blake, who looked annoyed again. "What are you trying to suggest?" he demanded of Carnell. "Am I supposed to be on trial?"

"Would you like to be on trial?" Carnell asked him. "Do you wish to be questioned again about Travis?"

"No, I do not..." Blake hesitated. "You are trying to say that I do not wish to kill Travis, is that it?"

"He's trying to say that you can't...as I said," Avon said acidly. "And he's right, isn't he! Even Vila can work that out. Perhaps you need to be questioned more about Travis. Perhaps you need to understand your motives, Blake, before you can fight Travis equal to equal. Perhaps, at the moment, Travis has the advantage over you - and if he has, all our lives are at risk while you play games around him."

Blake's hands balled at his sides in rage. "I don't like what you are suggesting, Avon. I think we might question you, for example, about why you might like to work with Servalan. We all know how much you admire her. Could you kill Servalan...or would you join her against us?"

"One casual remark," Avon murmured, "after we'd taken Orac, when I mentioned that I found her exhilarating...and now you have me defecting. My goodness, Blake, that's quite a train of thought. Perhaps you think I'd back her for President?"

"How would I know?" Blake replied coldly. "I don't like the idea that you could work with her at all."

Carnell interrupted smoothly. "It is interesting to note," he said, that Travis was subjected to court-martial in respect of crimes against humanity. You didn't know? It is true. I shall not talk about the trial now - it will be in my detailed submission - but it would appear you attacked Space Command on the very same day and so Travis escaped detention. Clever of you, Blake, to rescue him."

"Hardly intentional," Blake said.

"Perhaps he'll come and thank you," Vila suggested slyly.

"Just let him try!"

Carnell could guess at much of what Blake was thinking from the changing expressions on his face. At present, the man was wondering whether Carnell was any kind of an asset. Well, let him wonder. Carnell would do what he was being paid to do but not necessarily in the way Blake would like. The important thing was the end result. For now, would Blake take any notice of the advice he received or would he, like Servalan, decide that he knew best and must make a change here, a modification there, until the end result was chaos? It was obvious Blake did not like to take advice too much. His obsession now was to make some grand, dramatic gesture to prove his worth as a rebel leader. It would be difficult for him to listen to advice which might conflict with that obsession. "I can't imagine Travis will thank Blake," Carnell said. "Travis will not rest until Blake is dead. I doubt if he understands any more why he wants it: he merely has to kill."  _And the therapy I had to order for him so that Servalan could use him against Coser will hardly have helped,_  Carnell thought.

"If he is unbalanced, he should be vulnerable," Avon remarked. "We could trap him - though there's little point if Blake won't let us kill him."

"He's certainly out to trap you," Carnell said. "The question is how...and that is what I have been considering. It is also the main reason for this discussion now. Travis may well approach you before the strategies you have asked me to provide are completed. Travis has a ship and a crew. How did he get them? It might be easy to steal a ship - but how has he gained the confidence of its crew? You cannot imagine he runs it at gunpoint."

"That's suspicious," Avon said. "Could Servalan have helped him?"

"Perhaps. Next, how can he challenge Blake? If he cannot board Liberator, then he must lure Blake off it. What kind of hold could he have over Blake? How can he cheat, or threaten or blackmail him? Travis is off his head," Carnell said. "He will choose the most brutal strategy."

"And that is?" Blake queried.

"Blackmail."

"It's the obvious thing," Avon remarked. "It's what I'd do in his place."

"There's no way Travis could blackmail me," Blake protested, almost laughing.

"You doubt me?" Carnell said, not at all put out. "But of course, you believe you have the upper hand over Travis. Let me remind you that Travis is still able to think - and think very efficiently - I suggest."

 _Careful, isn't he,_  Vila thought,  _not to commit himself too much. Is he uncertain about something in the prediction - or trying to make us think he's uncertain?_

"Blackmail," Carnell continued, "involves something that matters to you, Blake. What might matter to you"

"Aren't you supposed to tell him, not ask him?" Jenna queried.

"I have to be circumspect," Carnell told her. "I might influence him too much - and confuse him."

"But if Blake is paying you to tell him..."

"He is not," Avon interposed. "He has not asked Carnell for a strategy to kill Travis - because he cannot kill Travis. Therefore all he can ask is how to avoid Travis. Perhaps we should ask for another strategy and do away with Travis - whether Blake likes it or not." He looked at Carnell. "Is it certain that Travis would choose what will matter most to Blake?"

"He will probably choose something he believes will be important. That's different - perhaps. Remember that Travis can be crude if it suits his purpose. He is not crude by nature, but chooses to be crude so as to have the maximum effect on any adversary who finds savagery offensive."

"In that case, you must surely be able to tell me what to do?" Blake suggested.

"But it is already clear he cannot do that," Avon said. "It's part of his method. For some reason, he will not tell you what he thinks. Is that it, Carnell?" Their eyes met and Carnell nodded slightly, acknowledging the point.

 _So Avon has seen what I have seen,_  Vila thought, pleased to agree with Avon and wishing he could say so now. He beamed delightedly and then the beam faded as he began to wonder what theories Carnell was keeping back. Why should Carnell keep secrets from them? What conjectures were so...unpalatable...that he could not tell Blake? Would he tell someone else? Would he tell Avon?

"If I tell you exactly what I conjecture," Carnell said to Blake, "you may immediately try to prove me wrong - or you may wait for Travis to do what I have suggested, and then Travis may be diverted to some other trick. You'd probably end up worse than before."

"Perhaps we can hope that Blake will fall head-first into Travis' trap and then we'll be rid of him," Avon said sarcastically. "It would certainly solve a good many of my problems."

"A crude trap," Carnell said to Blake. "Think about it. And when you see it...remember my advice."

"Which is?"

"To stay away," Carnell replied simply, spreading his hands.

"To stay away?" Blake echoed incredulously. "Is that all?"

"Just that."

"But suppose..." Blake hesitated. "Suppose it is essential I go...if it is a matter of going somewhere? Being forewarned, I'd be doubly careful. I don't think 'keep away' is adequate, Carnell. It's no great strategy."

"A strategy doesn't have to be complicated," Carnell said. "The more there are complications, the more the chance of failure. It's your privilege to disagree with me." Carnell was totally unruffled. "Now, let us discuss Servalan again for a few moments." Again, a dazzling likeness of Servalan flashed on to Zen's screen. "First, you must not imagine she has relinquished Travis, even if he thinks she has. I predict Servalan is still using him - in order to get you. She is taking a risk for he might destroy Liberator and she wants it at all costs. Servalan may take the chance of losing it, though, if your destruction can be achieved. Travis is after you and she knows it, and she is letting him get on with it."

"Why?" Avon asked.

"She cannot devote all her time to you, trouble though you are. Your attack on Space Command has given her a little time - a chance to ward off awkward questions from High Council. Space Command must be given priority, even over you. We can't have gaping holes in our beloved Space Command, can we?"

Blake smiled at that, remembering the deep satisfaction he had felt when he saw a large chunk of the great, evil structure disintegrate.

It was personal spite, that attack, Carnell thought, yet another sign of Blake's growing instability. He wondered how much Avon was aware of it; and if Avon had guessed yet at the identity - predicted identity - of Blake's successor. Vila was wondering - and Vila was clever. Vila would see it. The women? They were curious. Jenna was minding her own conclusions, or perhaps not too concerned about the future. Cally, an obsessive herself about freedom fighting, did not see the implications of Blake's obsessions. Cally would have a severe shock when Blake went. How would she accept his successor? Could she accept a leader who had no desire to succeed Blake, no ambition to follow Blake's crusading path? And would the successor himself hold to the course Carnell predicted. That thought fascinated Carnell totally.

"However," Carnell continued," she has now used some of that time. It is predictable she may direct one powerful, violent attack at you - to humour High Council. So be wary."

"We always are," Blake said.

 _But you are no longer entirely stable,_  Carnell thought, as he left the flight deck a few minutes later. It was that very instability which held him back from giving Blake all the strategy. Blake's obsession to make a grand gesture and his mental trauma following Gan's death would prevent him from assessing data accurately. All Carnell could do was give him what he could cope with.

The rest would have to be imparted - privately - to Avon; which depended very much on whether Avon would talk to him privately, now...and, if they were alone, what might follow that had nothing to do with Blake's problems. For Carnell knew that somehow, before the day was out, before he had to leave Liberator and return to Skar, he must talk to Avon frankly about the emotions that lay between them. It was not just because they both, Carnell knew, needed therapy of some kind, but also because he could not help himself. It was no longer curiosity and an indefinable, inexplicable desire to know Avon, such as had first prompted him to seek Avon out. It was love, passionate, frighteningly intense, the very emotional trauma he had long expected. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt, from Avon's evasions, Avon's sarcasm, and still more from Avon's occasional, unwary moments of pure, joyous relaxation before he remembered...that Avon wanted him equally, that Avon had admitted it, awkwardly but honestly, that very morning.

Carnell tried not to think of the possibility that even now he might still not be able to win Avon's confidence, that Avon's own severe emotional repressions might deny him the catharsis he needed, the love which Carnell needed to give and Avon receive. Carnell had loved women sometimes and sometimes failed to get them, but this could be far worse than anything he had ever known; perhaps far worse than anything Avon had known if Avon decided to reject him and to struggle, alone, to forget.

 

Carnell spent the early part of the afternoon conversing with Orac and Zen on the bridge, not so much because he needed the data but merely for the pleasure of using the two superb machines. He spoke more abruptly to the machines than to humans, severely practical as he immersed himself in a series of questions and answers. Cally, who was on watch, stared at him covertly, at his bent fair head and elegant, strong shoulders, and at his hands, and listened to his voice and wished he would never leave.

Eventually he broke his concentration and found her eyes fixed on him. He could see that she was inexpressibly unhappy but he refused to respond to her.

He saw the crestfallen expression spread across her face, even though she tried to hide it.  _Now what am I supposed to do,_  he wondered, faintly irritated as always when faced with a desperate woman he did not want. He felt no desire to comfort her. He'd hoped she would accept his disinterest, that she would resist the temptation to become more and more involved, but it was clear she had not been careful. Perhaps she was in the grip of just the kind of passion he had for Avon? If that was so, he could pity her, but he would not, ever, do anything to encourage her to hope. "It must be difficult," he remarked, wishing he need say nothing yet feeling forced to speak to her, "living as you all do, so close yet so uninvolved. Don't any of you ever think of emotional relationships?"

She was obviously startled by the question, but he must be careful she did not misunderstand. "Do you never think of Vila?" he asked her.

"Vila!" She was openly angry. "He's a Delta. You can't be serious..."

"He's no ordinary Delta," Carnell replied. "He's misgraded, and you are not human."

"I have no interest in Vila," she told him flatly. "I don't want to talk about Vila. I want to talk about..." She hesitated. "I'm busy," she said abruptly, aware that he did not want to talk to her and resentful of it. "I thought you were too."

"The intelligent mind is always busy," he murmured. On an impulse, he decided to be honest with her: it could not do any harm. "Don't waste your time thinking of me," he said quietly. "My...affection is already given elsewhere. I can't - won't - cope with you as well."

She did not know how to answer him. Tears came into her eyes and she looked unseeing down at her hands.

"I could lecture you about Vila," he said. "I could even suggest you importune Blake, although I don't think he's any woman's ideal lover at the moment, whatever he may have been before Gan's death... Forget me - force yourself. You've so little choice here, so little opportunity to find a new love; but don't...just don't...wait for me. There is no way I could ever love you, Cally, no way at all."

She knew there was no more point in pretending, no point in protesting she had no idea what he meant. "I hear you," she said, "but I don't know if I can obey you." Her shoulders began to shake.

He had been wasting time talking to Orac and Zen when he should have been with Avon. He had hesitated, the afternoon was nearly gone, and so soon he must return to Skar. Was he to leave with the words unsaid? What was wrong with him: normally so self-assured, normally so bold a lover? Angry with himself, he gathered his papers together and swept off the flight deck, unable to think any more of Cally, let alone to pity her, leaving her to weep alone without knowing whether he had helped her or made her grieve even more.

And Cally, shocked by the truth she had not wanted to hear and dismayed that he left her so brutally, could not hold back her tears. She dropped her face into her hands and wept. She was still weeping, silently but desperately, when Vila wandered on to the flight deck five minutes later. "Cally," he said casually, "have you seen...? Cally?"

He was, she supposed afterwards, the only one of them she could have faced then, although she could never have said why. Instead of going awkwardly away, as she might have expected him to do, he came over and laid a hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter, Cally?"

"I can't...tell you," she replied, still hiding her face. She felt desperate for help...anyone who could tell her what do to, how to dull the pain of loving without hope. But how could she possibly explain any of it?

"You're hurt? Who's been here? Carnell was here, wasn't he?" He felt her tremble and nodded sagely. "I might have known. What's he done to upset you?"

"Nothing," she muttered.

"You're wasting your time over him, you know," Vila continued, squeezing her shoulder sympathetically. He felt her stiffen and sensed she was embarrassed. Clearly she had not realised he knew. "I guessed," he said. "It shows when you look at him."

"So I suppose everyone knows?" she said bitterly.  _How can I face them,_  she thought frantically.

"There's no point in fretting about it if they do... Do you want me to go away?"

"No," she said. "I can't bear to be alone, Vila, not just now. You see, he's told me he's...already committed to someone else...that he refuses even to think of me."

"Well, you should expect that," Vila said. "You'd be lucky to find such a man free just at the moment he happened to step on board Liberator and you happened to see him. And how could you have a relationship with him? He's not one of us."

"I know," she said miserably, "but it's still no comfort."

 _But he was free, wasn't he,_  Vila thought,  _then he came here and found Avon, and since then neither of them has noticed anyone else._  Poor Cally. But would it help if she knew the truth? Somehow he doubted it. "There's nothing you can do except live through it," he said gently. "It'll get easier after a while. Perhaps there will be someone else." But there had been no-one for him either... "When your watch is over, you'll come to my cabin and get drunk. It'll do you the world of good."

"Drunk!" she exclaimed. "There's no way I..."

"All right - just one drink." Just to get her to sleep, he thought. Maybe it wouldn't seem so bad in the morning with Carnell gone, and perhaps she could find some way to avoid him when they came to Skar again for the fruits of his labours on Blake's behalf. "Water," he said, "anything...but with someone. Talk it out. If not with me, then with Jenna or Blake. They'd understand."

"I'll think about it," she said. She supposed it would be better than moping alone, better than thinking what might have been, if only... "After my watch, I'll decide," she said.

 

Carnell flung the papers he had been carrying on to Gan's bunk, and then went to Avon's door. Determinedly, he knocked.

After a moment, the door opened. "Well?" Avon said, forbiddingly.

 _Now or never,_  Carnell thought. "You know we have to talk," he said. "You can let me into your cabin or you can shut me out - and I may or may not go away. Which is it to be?"

Avon's hand hovered over the door control. He realised he had no idea what to do. He had been waiting for this moment...hoping for it and yet hoping it would not come.

"There are questions you want to ask of me," Carnell continued. "Are you going to throw away the chance to ask them now?"

Avon dropped his hand suddenly and stood back so that Carnell could come past him. "Very well," he said, "questions... Nothing else.

 _At least I am here,_  Carnell thought.  _We will not be disturbed and Avon will listen._  He looked appreciatively around the cabin with its air of lived-in neatness. This was where Avon could relax, perhaps forget his cares. But he relaxed alone, of that Carnell was sure. He seated himself on a couch and leaned his head against the high, curved backrest. The crew's quarters were obviously designed with a combination of comfort, practicality and stark elegance, but the comfort was alien. The curve of the seats was not suited to the human frame. Carnell wondered if Liberator's present crew would ever make the effort to change the ship, or would they leave it in all its alienness as though they still felt themselves merely illegal tenants, perhaps to be forced one day to leave and never return. Vila had told him of the attempt by Liberator's original owners to get it back. Perhaps they would try again one day, if the System had survived.

"So," Carnell said, "what have you to ask me?"

"Haven't you already guessed?" Avon queried sardonically.

"Some things, I expect, but isn't it still better that you should ask?"

Avon had remained standing, almost as though he expected Carnell to give a few quick answers and then immediately go away. Now he seemed to accept he would not escape so easily. He sat down. "I've tried to study your methods," he said, "but it isn't easy. You give so little away."

"You'd expect that, wouldn't you? How else would I earn a living?"

"We'll be returning to Skar," Avon said. "Would you fulfil a commission for me - a private commission?"

"Need you ask? Tell me what you want me to do." He'd rather expected it but still he was pleased. It proved that Avon trusted him and he had long since realised Avon did not give his trust easily.

"My future seems to me to be too much under Blake's control," Avon said. "There are reasons why I do not wish to leave Liberator..."

"You want the ship, of course. It's a worthy prize."

"I want to know," Avon said, "how I am to survive Blake. You may be able to see problems I have not even guessed at yet, and unless I know the right questions Orac cannot help me. Perhaps what I need from you are the questions...and some guidance on how to assess the answers. You'll realise - of course - that I am not happy about Blake's methods, nor about his ambitions."

"Then let us hope," Carnell commented,. "that you will soon be rid of him. What next?"

"Servalan. You told me she wished me to die with Blake. That indicates that she has a special interest in me."

"She resents the fact that you took Orac from her. If you had not appeared when you did, she would have killed Blake and kept the machine. Servalan's personal enmity should never be ignored: don't I know it! So I'll give you a grave warning: watch out for yourself if ever she gets within reach of you. She is so beautiful that you may well want her, but she's also deadly. If you take her, watch for your back, and don't sleep when she's near. Never trust her, for she will put expediency before promises."

"I've seen her twice, and twice tried to kill her," Avon said. "As usual, Blake and circumstances intervened: it's almost Travis all over again."

"Blake would have no reason to hold back from killing her," Carnell said. "What do you really think of her, Avon?"

There was a moment's silence, as though Avon was uncertain, or wary of his reply. But when the answer came, it surprised Carnell. "She reminds me of a bitch, permanently on heat," Avon said baldly. "If I ever thought of...having her, I'd tie her down first. It seems the most practical way to control her."

Carnell laughed delightedly. So Avon was sometimes totally unpredictable. "She's very devious," he said. "Remember she'll always seek to trick you - always. She'd never let any man control her. She'd never put love before ambition." When Avon did not reply, Carnell continued, "But you might. Once you almost did: Anna Grant..."

Avon's expression darkened. "What is Anna to do with you?"

"You'll understand that I know of Anna," Carnell replied carefully. "The impression I have is that Anna had a great deal of influence over you. I should not like to think that Servalan could...control you."

"Then I must guard against it," Avon replied. "Did Servalan ever control you, Carnell?"

"Only in that she caused me a great deal of annoyance. Do you want to know if I made love to her? Of course I did...but I had not found you then."

Avon had been relaxing, Carnell had seen, in spite of the mention of Anna. Now he stiffened and got to his feet. "You were warned!" he snarled. "Talk..."

"Talking is all we are doing," Carnell countered pointedly. "I promised you answers to your questions. Suppose you ask the next one? But remember, I don't give my answers for nothing, not even to you. The fee is your time. I want to know what you are, why you hold back from warmth and affection, what you really feel inside that shell of yours."

"The fee," Avon said savagely, "is too high. Get out."

"No," Carnell retorted, "it's not too high, not at all. I'm not asking you to bare your soul to me, much as I'd like that, nor even to talk if you prefer silence. I want to observe, alone with you and undisturbed. Remember my training: I don't necessarily need explanations for the lack of them may be more expressive."

"So you mean that if I don't talk you assume the worst, is that it?" Avon demanded irritably.

"'The worst' Why should I assume 'the worst'? And how do we define 'the worst', Avon?"

 _If everything I say betrays me, how can I speak,_  Avon agonised,  _and if I do not speak, then what?_  "Don't play word games with me!" he exclaimed.

"So we will talk of something else. You lost Anna through your own avarice. Looking back, would you have given up your fraud for her?"

Avon was still angry, yet prepared to consider the point. It was, Carnell knew, a sign that Avon was willing to have him stay. Avon answered the question at last, with difficulty. "I don't know. I wanted them both. I would have given my life for her...and yet... Do you see that as immaturity?"

"Perhaps," Carnell replied, "but it's the kind of immaturity most of us share."

"Does Servalan share it? Or is that what you have already tried to tell me - that she does not?"

"She does not," Carnell said. "It's her great strength and..."

"Her great weakness," Avon supplied. "Do you believe she cannot love?"

"I believe she may not love if love interfered with her ambition. She may love a man who threatens her. She can be influenced very strongly by love. If she lusts after...you, for example...she might set a trap for you for she enjoys games of that kind. And in the same way, you could catch her."

"Cat and mouse? Would her ambition really tempt her to play foolish games?"

"She is amused by games," Carnell said. "She was excited by my strategy to catch Blake. That is partly why I chose such a method, for there could have been many other ways."

Avon smiled faintly. "That's very subtle. I shall remember it."

"So long as you do," Carnell commented, with his own ready smile in return, "you may be able to control her. But we all make mistakes sometimes - it's the way the Universe is structured."

"Entropy," Avon remarked. "A most frustrating factor."

"But we have to face it - just as you now have to face me." Carnell was tired of impersonal discussion and could not hold back any longer the question he had to ask. "Why won't you surrender to the love you've already admitted lies between us?"

"No," Avon said grimly. "Talk of something else."

 _This time, he has not told me to go away,_  Carnell noted. "Be honest with me!" he exclaimed.

"I find you stimulating," Avon said slowly. "That's a rare luxury, in my experience."

"Are you telling me the stimulation is entirely mental? I don't believe you."

"Did I say so? Well... But physical intimacy: that's so very much more...I don't think I could stand it."

"The only difference between us, "Carnell said, "is that I have been trained to investigate and seek to understand all aspects of human behaviour. Do you imagine you would find intimacy distasteful?"

"Yes," Avon replied, "I would." But he did not sound certain.

"You still aren't being honest with me," Carnell said. "Let us have honesty, if nothing else. You must realise that we can say anything to one another...anything."

Avon closed his eyes for a moment, dredging up the will to describe the emotions he could hardly bear to contemplate. The he made himself look at Carnell. "Very well," he said, forcing out the words, "I...believe I want you. But it concerns me that I can't rationalise it." He pressed his hands together, that unconscious gesture that Carnell had come to know signified uncertainty or a momentary lack of control. Carnell longed to take those uneasy hands and hold them, to give his own acceptance of passion, but he held back. Avon was not ready yet for that.

"Amusing, isn't it?" Avon said sardonically.

"No," Carnell replied quietly, "it is not amusing at all. If it were, we could laugh and forget it. It's incomprehensible...marvellous. If you can accept it, understanding will come."

Avon had been looking at him all this time, almost longingly. "I don't know what to do about it," he said. "That's honest too." His gaze dropped. "There's another question I want to ask you," he said rather desperately, as though by changing the subject he could bury all emotion.

"I know the question," Carnell said, "and the answer is yourself. But you will have realised that already. You will - almost certainly - take Blake's place."

Avon sighed. "I was afraid of it. Are you going to tell me how you reached that conclusion?"

"Perhaps, but not now. There are other predictions.. and if you knowingly interfere in what may be your future, the alternatives could lead to death."

"So you're putting personal interest in the way of your strategy?" Avon queried. "You are trying to keep me alive."

"Avon, do you blame me?" Carnell demanded, almost losing his self-control for a moment. "Could I willingly send you to your death?"

"You nearly did - once. But for some bondslave, you would have done."

"Ah, but I didn't know you so well then. It was a long time since Acheron."

"Is my future so bad?" Avon persisted. "Is there no escape for me?"

"As to that, you must wait until I have completed my assessment. I will not make wild guesses. I believe you are safe enough at the moment, if you can contain Blake's wilder schemes."

"So I can't even hope he'll go away," Avon muttered, "because then I'm likely to be landed with his precious Cause. How ironic!"

"You're trapped by his good intentions," Carnell said. "You don't have his motives nor his need to prove his Cause is just...but you must assure yourself he is free to fight. It's a dependency which will probably ensure you lead in his place - if he disappears.

"I never thought of myself as dependent on Blake," Avon said. "Or are you saying he is dependent on me?"

"I am saying he is dependent on you. It shows - all the time. Even Vila sees it. And worse - Blake will never let you go if he can help it, no matter what he says."  _And nor will I,_  he thought. "Avon..." he said.

"Talk of Blake."

"In a very short while," Carnell said, "we shall come back to Skar. I will not leave until I have had my say, so there's no point in talking any more about Blake. I did not come here to help Blake - no matter what he thinks. I came here only for you...you know that perfectly well. I did not expect to want you so much. I can't account for it but I no longer wish to. There's a therapy for both of us - and you know what it is. As a professional, I can tell you that we need it. The only alternatives are a platonic friendship, if we can endure it, or permanent separation. I can't even contemplate permanent separation. The question you have to ask yourself is whether separation is what you want."

"I don't have to think about it," Avon said. "I don't want to...to lose you."

"So we must be friends...or lovers. You know my decision. It is for you to choose. I've no fear of your love, although I almost fear my own responses. My training tells me I must accept my responses. So must you, whatever you decide we are to be to one another."

Again Avon pressed his hands together, and at last Carnell crossed the room and went down on one knee before him, seizing those hands and holding them close. "Don't you see?" he said. "The need is there: it shows in you all the time. Vila has seen it, and Blake. You can't hide it."

Avon felt weakness overcoming him, his control a mere thread to which he clung almost desperately. He was shaking again, only very slightly but Carnell must have noticed it. "I understand what you are saying," he replied.

"But you still have to decide what you will give."

"Will you wait?" Avon said. "Perhaps I will be able to tell you - when we return to Skar."

His intercom came suddenly to life and Jenna's voice echoed into the room. "Avon, we are approaching Skar. I can't find Carnell."

"He's here," Avon said, still looking at Carnell. "He'll come now."

The intercom died. "I love you," Carnell said. "I can't prevent myself from saying it. And I shall communicate with you through Orac - if you will arrange it. If nothing else, I'd like you to tell me what Blake is doing so that I may add anything untoward into my computations...particularly relating to Travis." He was still kneeling before Avon, clasping his hands. Now he stood, and Avon stood with him. "How do I let you go?" Carnell demanded. Then he released Avon's hands abruptly and backed away from him. "Come and say au revoir to me: your hand on your miraculous teleport, sending me away...

"Come in four weeks," he said to Blake who was waiting on the flight deck with the others. He glanced at Cally and then away. There was nothing he could say to her, no point in showing her an attention he did not even wish to give. Then he started to walk towards the teleport section, and Avon went with him. Blake moved to follow them.

"Blake!" Vila exclaimed, knowing that Avon would prefer Blake out of the way. Blake hesitated and then came across. "There's something wrong with this scanner," Vila said urgently, pointing to some violent fluctuations on the screen which he'd just caused by kicking the unfortunate instrument. By the time Blake had sorted out the mess, it was too late to bother about Carnell.

"You'll have to find some way to come to me on Skar," Carnell said to Avon. "There's no other way I can properly fulfil your commission...and you can see that as a trick on my part to get you there for my own reasons, if you so wish. As for Travis, be careful. Blake's determined - unconsciously - to take unnecessary risks, just to prove he's invincible."

"I'm beginning to see that. It may be impossible to stop him."

"Consider very carefully your personal strategy if he is trapped," Carnell continued, "but whatever you do, remember there will be influences on Travis which you cannot detect - which even I cannot necessarily anticipate. Do everything you can to prevent Blake from setting eyes on Travis again."

"It's a mutual admiration society," Avon said acidly. "They can't keep away from one another."

"I know. It's essential Travis is killed, as soon as possible, and my intuition tells me you may kill him, not Blake."

"I can't wait for the chance."

"Travis is far more dangerous than Blake realises," Carnell said, "perhaps even more dangerous than he could ever believe. If Travis continually fails, he will become uncontrollable. And remember too that he may still be working for Servalan... Now I must go - reluctantly, frustratingly. Think of me."

Avon nodded and set the teleport co-ordinates as Carnell went to the transmission area. "Take care of the bracelet," he said.

"Four weeks," Carnell said, gazing at Avon with concentrated passion.

"Not a day longer, if I have to lock Blake up in order to get here..." Avon smiled wanly and drew the master control towards him. He stared back at Carnell, and when he had gone, at the space where he had been, for a very long time.

 

### CHAPTER THREE

Blake's eventual and hardly merited success on Exbar put him in an excellent humour which pleased most of his companions but caused Avon some secret anxiety. It was all too obvious to Avon now that Carnell had been entirely correct in his assertion that Blake actively wanted to be trapped by Travis whilst at the same time being unable to kill him; and Blake, exhilarated by what he declared was an excellent trick of his own in leaving Travis to Servalan's doubtful mercy, was delighted to wonder aloud what Servalan would do to Travis.

But Avon was uneasy about that too. He'd made the decision to send for Servalan only after trying to decide whether Travis really was still working for her, and finally reckoning that even if he was, she'd be angry at his failure yet again, and angry at the time she'd have to waste coming to Exbar for nothing. There was an even chance she might kill Travis then and there...but if she did not, Avon supposed she might start plotting with him once again. Still, he'd had to do something, and it seemed a good idea at the time.

Remembering Carnell's warning that Blake should be treated with caution, Avon felt unable to discuss Travis - or anything much else - with him. Blake crowed about the fact that Servalan would probably discipline Travis savagely, but did not seem to care too much that she might not kill him, commenting as he had in the past that it was better the enemy you knew... Yet if Blake, unable himself to kill Travis, left Travis to someone else to kill for him, then surely the enemy you did not know would take Travis's place? And if Travis were left alive and free to carry on pursuing Blake, they would still have to watch for him all the time. It was a total non-sequitur, but Avon had never been able to persuade Blake to see it.

Still, there were bright spots in the grim days. Carnell was no taciturn lover and sent Avon visual messages frequently. The messages were strictly private, of course, for Avon only to see and hear, but their arrival was usually signalled publicly by Orac. Vila would smile, pleased to see that Avon was less ratty these days in spite of his obvious irritation with Blake, Cally would tighten her lips and wish she dared ask Avon just to allow her a glimpse of Carnell, and Jenna, intrigued by a friendship which had obviously become much closer than she would have expected, would watch Avon's face once he knew another message had come. Blake's expression was usually unreadable, and Vila wondered with a sudden flash of intuition whether he might conceivably be jealous. Blake had always tried, Vila knew, to gain Avon's confidence, and usually had failed. Did Blake resent the fact that Carnell had so obviously succeeded?

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  I have made a start on assessing your future strategy and how good it is to concentrate on you instead of Blake! For the rest, work comes in apace, which is pleasing as I wouldn't take kindly to poverty. I've an idea for a fiendish new game which will convulse the fanatics. Still, that's trivial...just a little extra grist. The Government here is collectively off its head, but most Governments are so I shall leave them to get on with it unless they interfere with my personal comfort... I've some questions for you which I'm sure you'll answer honestly...won't you? You'll see right away how relevant they are (I hope). First, on the matter of Anna Grant, and you must understand I really need to know this, my love, or I wouldn't ask... Take care, and keep Blake under your heel, somehow.  **Carnell."**

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  Servalan did indeed launch a savage attack on us and almost immediately afterwards Blake threw himself into Travis's trap wholeheartedly, just as you had predicted, and how he masochistically enjoyed it - nearly getting me and Vila killed in the process, but that's nothing unusual. I may have made a mistake, sending for Servalan. I wish I knew... We haven't heard of Travis's arrest, which is ominous, so I'm very much afraid you were right in predicting he would still be working with her. I took a calculated risk and I hope it hasn't made matters worse... I suppose I see the point of some of your questions, but not all. Perhaps you'll explain to me, some time. Are you going to let me into the secret of the game, or do I have to wait until you spring it on me and subject me to another devastating defeat? It strikes me I need to research exhaustively before I play any games with you...well, any games of that sort... Hot foot from the fiasco on Exbar, Blake is dragging us to some pernicious planet called Albion, grid reference... There he hopes to meet someone called Provine. No doubt this trip will be as disastrous as the last.  **Avon."**

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  Sending for Servalan might have been a good idea if only you hadn't weakened and raced down to save Blake. Still, it's yet another indication of that dependency I mentioned to you and you simply have to take into account your tendency to rescue him in spite of swearing beforehand that you won't! No point in worrying about it now. As for Albion, Servalan has had her eye on that area for some time. I can't say I'd choose to go there but Blake is driven... You won't stop him now so it's probably best to let him go without argument. Provine? Yes, one of Servalan's people at one time. He's totally untrustworthy - so far as you are concerned. There's something odd about Albion, though. I'm checking through my sources on Earth but may not have the answer before you need it, so be careful. As for the game, it'll be too fanciful for your taste - but there'll be many who'll love it. Talking of love, since I've got you at my mercy - unless you destroy this message here and now - look into my eyes and listen closely: something to think about in the long reaches of the night...?  **Carnell"**

 **"Avon to Carnell.**  I suppose it wasn't so bad on Albion since nothing disastrous happened ultimately. As before, I'll give you the details... It was a relief, I suppose, to meet Grant. Things are straight between us now and I feel better for it. You were right when you implied that my avarice had - in a way - killed Anna. We could have stayed together but for my ambition but I don't know whether I could have forgiven her if she'd not given me the chance to try... And but for losing her, would I have found you? I hadn't thought of it like that before: it's comforting... We shall be with you in five days, as agreed.  **Avon."**

 ****Albion. He had made the grand gesture to Grant, insisting that they defuse the bomb or die together; but he had not expected, not intended to die, not then with questions about Carnell, decisions about Carnell seething in his mind. But for that beam falling at the worst possible moment, the job would have been done without too much fuss. But he wanted to prove to Grant that his love for Anna had been true, and to be rid of the bitter misunderstanding that had lain between them for so long. There were few humans Avon cared much about, but he had respected Grant and valued the friendship which they'd had for that short time before Anna's death. He was infinitely relieved to have regained that friendship now. No doubt Carnell would have some suitable explanation for his grand gesture.

 

When they reached Skar, Avon was on watch. "Cally," Blake remarked as they fell into geostationary orbit round Skar, "perhaps you'll go and see to the teleport?" Blake felt a perverse desire to annoy Avon, and also Carnell; and he had noticed how Cally had languished since Carnell had departed. It would please her, Blake thought kindly, to have Carnell alone for a few moments. Perhaps Carnell might be induced - if she could amuse him - to look where he ought to be looking, at a comely woman instead of at Avon.  _Let's hope,_  Blake thought now,  _all that nonsense has been forgotten._

But anyone could see, from the way Carnell looked at Avon when he arrived on the flight deck, that it had not...and worse, Avon did not look as though he objected to Carnell's untoward attention, which Blake found quite incomprehensible. The whole thing was insufferable: thank heaven they'd soon be rid of the psychostrategist and back to the normal, close-knit relationship they'd built up so carefully and which had been torn apart so disturbingly by this bland, infuriating manipulator. Well, that was it, Blake thought irritably: the man was manipulating them all, Avon included. He'd probably had a good laugh about it since.

Carnell showed no disappointment at finding Cally in the teleport area, but no enthusiasm either. She stared at him, openly longing for there was no point now in hiding her need from him. He greeted her with a few casual words, no more, then deposited his teleport bracelet in the rack in front of her and waited, silently uninterested, for her to precede him to the flight deck. Faced with his open, almost cruel indifference, there was nothing she could do except go before him. He wondered for a moment if she might come one day to hate him, but he could not bring himself to care one way or the other. She was only one of so many women who had wanted him and failed to get him. Only the very few women he'd loved had ever mattered to him afterwards, and even they were of no importance now.

He came onto the flight deck and saw only Avon. Vaguely, he heard Blake talking, some perfunctory greeting: and none too friendly, Carnell noted distantly and without surprise. And then came some comments about hoping things would not take too long as Blake had some lead or other relating to Central Control and wanted to get away. Unenthusiastically, Carnell tore his gaze away from Avon and forced himself to concentrate on what Blake was saying.

"I've set aside a couple of hours for you," Blake was telling him. "I hope that will be long enough." From the tone of his voice, it seemed it would have to be long enough.

Carnell suppressed an agonising desire to laugh and managed to keep his expression under control. He had not the slightest intention of altering the presentation he had prepared, whether Blake liked it or not, but it would not be long for he was well aware Blake would be in no mood to concentrate for long. He swept past Blake, and Blake had the uneasy feeling he would have done better if he'd kept silent. Carnell had a disconcerting way, Blake realised ruefully, of turning almost everything to his own advantage.

To Carnell it was all clear enough. Blake had asked for strategies but now had no time to study them, so driven was he to justify his Cause. And he wanted, too, to keep this disturbing influence called Carnell away from Avon, to send Carnell away before he could have a chance to talk to Avon again and perhaps snatch Avon away from Blake for ever. It was all so predictable - if only they had all had the training and could see the signs. Carnell wondered just how much of his presentation Blake would take in; but Avon would listen and watch and learn, and Avon was Blake's only curb now for Jenna and Cally were committed to Blake, and Vila, who understood much, was not strong enough to defy Blake. Carnell swung round by Zen's screen and faced them all.

As before, he was in dark, dramatic clothing, this time decorated lightly with silver and gold. Head high in a characteristic pose which was, Vila thought, faintly intimidating yet immensely effective, he dominated all of them; for Blake, who might have challenged him if he chose, was silent now, and Avon stood slightly in the background.

There was a moment's silence, and then Carnell spoke. "The presentation," he said, "is contained in the data which I shall leave with you to process through Orac. The details are exceedingly complicated - as you will see. The calculations can be made - if you have the capacity for it." He looked at Avon and Blake, the two most likely to be able to try. "But there is no need. As I have given you the results, the calculations would be merely an amusement... You will see there are significant omissions in the calculations. These omissions are deliberate. I have my methods and they are secret. You are welcome to guess at the omissions, but I shall not discuss your theories."

"I imagine," Jenna remarked, "that we should not need to know?"

"The detail," Carnell continued, "is for you to study, if you so wish. You may even decide to challenge my conclusions. But what you want to hear now are my predictions."

He looked at Blake. "Recently," he said, "I predicted that you might leave Liberator."

"You suggested," Blake said shortly, "that I might disappear."

"That is so. It is a possibility."

"So, what will happen to me?"

"Your ambition to effect an overwhelmingly dramatic gesture can be achieved," Carnell said. "Your objective you already know. Its location I cannot tell you - but you expected that. I predict you can find it. Information in my Institute's files suggests that Docholli has the key. Provine has directed you to Docholli."

"How did you know that?" Blake demanded. then he looked at Avon. "I might have known." Avon ignored him.

Carnell continued smoothly, "I have given you information which will help you find Docholli. But I warn you: you may not be alone in your search."

"Why?" Avon asked. Carnell did not answer, but looked at him. "Travis?" Avon asked.

"Travis!" Blake exclaimed. "Why should he know anything of Docholli?"

"Do not assume that Travis is stupid," Carnell said to Blake. "Travis has failed, yet again, to kill you. Soon he may find some...different...way to try. I predict that it may not direct murder, this time, but something..." He paused. "Something far more dangerous," he said.

"In what respect more dangerous?" Blake demanded, mystified.

"I can only guess at that. You will find a number of conjectures in my presentation." He looked again at Avon and Avon understood Carnell would tell him more, later.

"So," Blake said, "I can hope to find Central Control?"

"There will be obstacles," Carnell said. "Travis, possibly Servalan; and, of course, the apathy of those you seek to help."

"Ah, yes," Blake remarked. "I asked for a strategy to galvanise them."

"That is the final part of the presentation... With regard to Central Control, you strategy is simple. I give you several possibilities, but your aim is to seek your objective against all the odds, to be ruthless - even with your compatriots here."

"Perhaps you are telling him to kill us if we get in his way?" Avon suggested, looking as though he would like to laugh.

Carnell did smile. "If necessary...if you let him; but I think Blake will remember that he needs you, that you are important, to be considered at all times."

"You should remember that, Blake," Avon said, his voice dripping with irony. "I am to be considered...at all times."

"I do consider you!" Blake snapped irritably, but knew it was not always true. There were times now when he deliberately avoided considering Avon, or would not spare the time, when Avon would turn on him and rake him with savage sarcasm on account of that disregard. "You are important," Blake said lamely, "but not unique. Cally, Jenna and Vila have to be considered too."

"They do?" Avon queried tartly. "Well, now - I hadn't noticed."

Carnell's smile had widened into a cynical grin. "No doubt," he said, "Blake will remember he will need all of you. The question is whether he can retain your loyalty." He gazed at Blake, his stare suddenly intense, hypnotic. "My prediction is that you will find Central Control. The question then is whether you should...take it."

"Of course I shall destroy it," Blake said. "That is the whole point of the search."

 _But Carnell did not mention destruction,_  Vila thought anxiously.  _He said 'take'..._  He was convinced, suddenly, that Carnell felt the destruction of Central Control would be an error. He looked at Avon, but Avon was staring at Carnell again and did not notice him.

The screen behind Carnell suddenly flashed into life and a scene of a group of people appeared. "High Council," Carnell said, "but not the High Council of today. You'll perhaps see people you recognise, Blake. One of these will have an influence on you. I cannot predict which, nor tell you the reason for my prediction. I merely advise you to note them all, investigate their backgrounds and their present status... One of them, Blake: think about it."

The screen changed and there was a view of the galaxy taken from Earth. "Somewhere here," Carnell said in soft, measured tones, "is the objective you seek, Blake. Federation records cannot tell you this, but I can."

 _It's a record from his own sources,_  Avon thought, wondering how it had been obtained. Was there more that Carnell could - but would not - tell them about Central Control?

Again the screen changed, to a view of Earth glowing blue and silver. "How beautiful is our home," Carnell said for he too was a native of Earth like all of them except Cally. "I predicted Blake might soon leave the Liberator. This is his intended destination."

 _But he has not said,_  Vila thought,  _if Blake will ever get there._

And Avon thought,  _with luck I shall take him there and be rid of him. And then..._  He had now made his choice, decided his future. He must be free of Blake, soon.

"In my presentation, which Orac has already has and will give you when you ask for it," Carnell continued, his voice now devoid of its usual light humour, almost cold, "I have detailed strategies but circumstances may change. I have given you warnings which you may or may not understand, but on which I will not elaborate. Think on all these things, Blake, and then decide your own strategy from the choices Orac will provide. Strategy such as you require must change from day to day as parameters change. I cannot give you an immutable strategy to cover all possible futures, and never once did I say I could..."

The screen blanked and Carnell was silent. Vila found that he was shivering. He looked at Carnell uneasily, and Carnell looked back at him, his eyes glittering. Vila had the distinct impression Carnell was warning him.  _But of what?_  Vila agonised. Was it to be wary of what he said...wary of what he said to Blake? He resolved to talk to Carnell alone, if he could.

"The commission," Blake said after a moment, "was to cover Central Control, Travis, Servalan and - er - apathy. I presume your full presentation covers all of this?"

"You will see that it does," Carnell replied. "Comprehensive studies of Travis and Servalan, every bit of information I could find on the history of Central Control - more than Orac could trace from Federation records; predications relating to Travis's future objectives and Servalan's plans to catch you, not to mention some detail on her other aims and problems just now which you might find useful; and, of course, a very lengthy dissertation on the means to raise a wholesale revolution - if that is really what you want."

"Not so long ago, you were a loyal Federation citizen," Cally said. "How can you possibly tell Blake how to start a revolution against Federation authority?"

Avon smiled. The implication was, to him at least, obvious. He knew enough of Carnell's methods by now to guess that Carnell's dissertation would be slanted to ensure that Blake realised the raising of such a revolution would be quite beyond him at the moment. Bloody revolutions rarely, Avon knew, solved problems - at least, not for long. It was always better to work from within the system - which Blake could do if he managed to reach Earth and lead same localised revolt there. Furthermore, Carnell had not, in one month, had the time to formulate a galaxy-wide strategy especially for Blake. "I need to study the data carefully," he said to Blake. "You'll realise we cannot leave here yet. We must have Carnell in reach in case there are sections we cannot understand."

Blake suddenly had a harried look in his eyes. Avon had the distinct impression he was not listening easily. "You know we must leave right away," he said shortly. "Docholli..."

"...Can wait," Avon replied icily.

"Carnell said we must find Docholli quickly - you heard him."

"No," Avon said. "He warned us Travis may also be looking."

"So Travis may find him before we do. We will leave immediately."

"So," Avon commented, "you are going to ignore everything Carnell has done for us and race off in the hope that if you hunt far enough and fast enough you may just happen to come across Docholli?"

"We can study the presentations while we are travelling. Orac can contact Carnell if it really becomes necessary. There's no need to wait, Avon, no need at all...and you know it."  _Next thing, he'll be wanting to go off with his handsome friend for a private jaunt,_  Blake thought angrily.

"You may be sure," Avon continued relentlessly, "that Carnell's data on Docholli will help us to find him more quickly than some haphazard search of the kind you intend. Just precisely where do you intend to go, Blake?"

"Orac has given some suggestions..."

"Orac's suggestions may be modified by Carnell's data..."

Blake was losing patience. He felt faintly distant from Avon, as though there was a sudden extra space between them. "This argument is futile!" he flashed. "We are leaving now, Avon, whether you like it or not." He swung round on Carnell, who had been watching the altercation in silence. "I'm grateful for all your hard work on our behalf. I presume we may contact you again if it proves necessary? But now you'll realise we are in a hurry. Let me return you to your home." He gestured towards the exit which led to the teleport section. "I'll put you down.

"By all means," Carnell said, but he did not move.  _He's waiting for Avon,_  Vila thought. From what he'd seen of Carnell, Vila had no doubt he'd get what he wanted, whether Blake liked it or not.

"You have planets to search," Avon said to Blake. "Very well: go and search them. You will be wasting your time but that's no concern of mine. Meantime, I shall study Carnell's presentations, and since I cannot study in peace on Liberator, I shall work on Skar."

Blake's face became suffused with rage. "So that's it!" he grated. "What you're really after is a cosy interlude with your...your... Is he your lover already, Avon, or are you saving yourself for a grand surrender on Skar?"

Behind him, Avon heard Cally gasp. Well, he thought, she was likely to find out sometime and everyone else seemed to have noticed already. He had time to feel a vague sense of compassion for her.

"Well," Blake shouted at him, "what are you going to do? Are you coming - sensibly - with me, or are you off to a love nest with that...that charlatan?"

 _He's overwrought,_  Carnell thought, watching Blake critically.  _And more than that..._  There was something very strangely wrong with Blake, something quite apart from the instability which was gradually overtaking him, but Carnell could not fathom it unless some outside influence was working on Blake. Carnell supposed that was possible. Where had Blake been recently? Exbar, Albion: could something have been planted on Blake?

And as for Avon, Carnell thought, he probably had not expected such an outburst from Blake. Even Carnell had not expected it, at least not in such explicit and offensive terms. Blake was not behaving rationally, and even the business of Gan's death and the obsessions with Central Control could not account for the violence of his anger.

"I am staying on Skar," Avon was saying. It was clear he was angry with Blake but he was keeping his temper, trying not to provoke Blake. "Go and search the planets Orac suggested and then come back for me; and then I'll tell you where you should have gone."

Blake appeared to have calmed down, the change of mood as sudden as the anger had been a moment ago. He frowned and seemed to recollect his manners. "Very well," he said, reluctantly but quite reasonably now. "It might be useful if you study the detail. We could be as long as a couple of weeks."

"Very well," Avon said, "two weeks. I'll be ready when you return with some summaries. It will save you having to study the detail yourself," he added rather sarcastically.

Carnell could not resist a broad smile at that.

"While Avon is getting his things," Vila said quietly to Carnell as Blake wandered away to talk to Jenna, "can I have a private talk with you?"

Carnell nodded and they went together to Vila's cabin.

"I'm pleased Avon is going with you," Vila confided. "He's had just about enough of Blake for a bit."

"Something is wrong with Blake," Carnell said seriously. "His behaviour is quite abnormal."

"Mind you, he was right, wasn't he!" Vila gave Carnell a sly look. "It's none of my business," he added, "but Avon is overdue for some fun."

They talked on casually, and Vila watched Carnell covertly. He wondered whether he could get away with rifling Carnell's pockets but decided not to risk it. Carnell could, he was sure, be very like Avon if he chose - hard and savagely sarcastic. It was only curiosity which drove Vila even to think of it - the temptation to discover what Carnell carried around with him.

"Don't try it," Carnell said genially.

"What?" Vila started guiltily.

"Whatever you are thinking of. Don't...at least, not on me."

Vila grinned. "How did you guess?"

"I'm observant. I don't feel like having to ward you off...so don't"

Vila sighed. "I can see I shall have to be very careful when you are about - I hope you are going to be about now and again. Well, since you are here..." He was longing to ask, determined to ask. "Do you have any predictions especially for me?" he demanded in a hopeful rush.

Carnell smiled as he so often did. He thought Vila was quite, quite charming in an uncontrolled, muddled sort of a way. "Be true to yourself," he said. "It's not a prediction, merely good advice, and comforting in an emergency. It's how I live - and Avon, always."

It was not quite what Vila wanted to hear. "Am I going to die?" he asked anxiously.

"One of these days."

"I know that! I mean soon - because of what Blake is doing."

"Vila," Carnell said gently, "I don't have tunnel vision into the future. It's a vast interlocking field of possibilities. But I think you're one who'll survive to tell the tale."

"My goodness," Vila said fervently, "I hope you're right. The only thing is, will there be a bearable tale to tell?"

Carnell gave Vila another of his ready, light smiles. "I can't answer that. You'll have to wait and see."

Vila sighed. "It's always 'wait and see', or some awful disaster I don't know how to cope with."

 _Nevertheless,_  Carnell thought,  _Vila copes...perhaps better than any of the others here._  But then Vila had been born to a hard Delta life and was bound to be resilient. Was he, perhaps, the strongest of them all in his way?

"There's something else I want to ask you," Vila ventured. "Since Blake's agreed to do without Avon, I wonder if he'd let me go as well."

"You want to come to Skar?" Carnell could well imagine it. Blake was not, he imagined, in the habit of allowing Vila extensive periods of shore leave and how frustrated Vila must feel about that! "I don't think I'm the person to ask him just now, do you?"

"Avon will ask him, if you are willing," Vila said confidently. "I wouldn't be in the way. I'd leave you in peace. I know you want to be alone with...er..."

"Don't make it any worse," Carnell smiled. "I will try not to see you as a chaperon. Come if you wish: you can visit the fleshpots of Skar."

"Fleshpots!" Vila breathed, his eyes lighting up with glee. "Lead me to them."

Blake was not enthusiastic about losing another of his crew but agreed, if only to avoid another argument and also because he felt he had made a fool of himself in front of Carnell. He remembered what he had said - stupid, provocative remarks. He had no doubt it was true what he'd implied between Avon and Carnell, but it should not have been said; and the worrying thing was he could not for the life of him think why it had been said. All he could hope now was that Avon would not abandon him and stay with Carnell for good.

So, in an effort to peace-make, Blake let Vila go with Avon.

They walked together, the three of them and Blake, to the teleport section, and Blake set the co-ordinates. "Have a good time," he said neutrally.

In Carnell's drawing-room on Skar, Vila looked around in delighted awe. This was, he thought, something like luxury! Carnell touched a control on the wall and after a moment a door opened and a woman entered. "This gentleman," Carnell said to her, indicating Vila with a wave of his hand, "would like a tour of the red-light district. Be so good as to arrange it for him."

"Don't rush back," Avon said pointedly.

"Don't worry," Vila replied. "Perhaps I won't return at all."

"What a good idea," Avon murmured, but Vila was too excited to notice the insult.

"Now you don't mean that," Carnell said when the door had closed and they were alone.

"Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't."

"Perhaps you're just in the habit of insulting him? Poor Vila - or come to think of it, he probably enjoys the attention... So, here we are, at last. Two whole weeks," Carnell said softly. "Whatever do you think we are going to do with ourselves...Avon?"


	3. WHAT END AWAITS

## PART III - WHAT END AWAITS

What men have seen, they know, But what shall come hereafter, No man before the event can see, Nor what end waits for him.

Sophocles

 

### CHAPTER ONE

Avon was conducted to a suite of rooms and left alone. It was all, he thought appreciatively, the kind of restrained luxury he would have had if his Bank fraud had not ultimately failed; but he was not inclined to fretting about that, so when a closed door met his eye he immediately went to open it.

He'd expected, somehow, to see just another part of the suite, but instead found himself in a large, light room walled with hardware of the type he so delighted in himself. The machines were unfamiliar, but clearly sophisticated and he fell to inspecting them. Soon he was completely absorbed, so much so that he did not notice when another door opened softly and Carnell entered the room.

"Tell me, computer," Avon was saying to the master computer terminal, "how do I access the records of the Institute of Psychostrategic Studies?"

"With the correct passwords," came the reply.

"And what are those passwords?"

"I cannot tell you that. You are not authorised to receive such information."

"You're very persistent, aren't you," Carnell remarked and Avon swung round to face him. "It won't tell you," Carnell added.

"I know: you wouldn't be so careless. I was amusing myself."

Carnell smiled at him. "I thought you'd appreciate being near the machines. Don't they make you feel at home?"

Avon acknowledged the point with a slight nod. "Presumably," he said, " I can study the strategies in here?"

"Certainly." In a few moments, Carnell had shown Avon how to access the relevant data. "It's all yours," he said. "Enjoy it."

"One other thing," Avon said as Carnell turned to leave. "You offered to let me see your Institute record."

"I'll access the record from elsewhere," Carnell told him. "Watch the screen...read it quickly because I shall cancel after five minutes; and don't try to raise the passwords - you'll be wasting your time."

"Well, I know that," Avon responded drily, and waited. Soon, the record appeared.

It was not that he wished to annoy Carnell, not at all. He was curious...and more, he wished to know this man to whom he had become emotionally committed. The record was clearly truncated, straightforward detail of childhood and achievements and some family background. Avon was not surprised to see that Carnell's father had been a High Councillor in his day. Carnell had the look of a man who had come from a political family. An only child of highborn parents, widely travelled, undoubtedly precocious, the educational record brilliant as was to be expected. Spectacular success at his Institute, rising quickly to the senior echelons. He was obviously a very senior officer now, Avon thought, intrigued. And then something of Carnell's private life, a note that he was catholic in his tastes in both women and possessions.  _Nicely put,_  Avon thought with a grin.

The screen blanked and Avon turned to the strategies, immersing himself in the endless intricate detail and quite forgetting the time. The day passed and the sky dimmed, and still he worked, fascinated yet increasingly apprehensive as he came to understand the uneasy path Carnell saw for Blake. And finally there were the details on revolution, showing all too clearly the disastrous chaos that would follow in the name of what Blake called freedom.  _It's not the right way_ , Avon thought. He'd always known it and Carnell confirmed his view.

This time he heard Carnell enter. "Am I keeping you waiting?"

"I admit to thinking about food," Carnell replied hopefully.

At dinner, they talked. "I really don't like," Avon said, "this idea of taking Blake's place, although I can see your reasoning."

"It's painfully predictable, given Blake's dependence on you," Carnell replied. "You'll stand in his place and become more than he ever was."

"If he disappears."

"Certainly. If he disappears."

"But you think he will, I can see that. Obviously I must ensure he does not. Now that I know your predictions, I can influence the future you predict. Don't tell me...you've taken that into account as well."

"You can see how difficult it is."

"I shall try and get out of it, you know. And what of your future? Do you predict that too, Carnell?"

"It's the abiding obsession of any psychostrategist," Carnell retorted, laughing.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Oh, so many things," Carnell replied lightly. "It changes from day to day. But I haven't computed my death yet, which is a relief."

"Yes," Avon said, and was silent for a moment. "You are concerned," he said eventually, "about Blake's intentions for Central Control. You don't want him to destroy it."

"As I told him obliquely, it would be an error. But his temperament is to fight."

"He likes to be the underdog," Avon remarked sarcastically, "facing tribulation with courage."

"How cynical you are - but of course you are right."

"But...why should I have to fight Servalan if Blake returns to Earth and takes control there?"

"There's a problem," Carnell said. "My prediction is that Blake will wish to return to Earth but will not be able to do so. My instinct warns me that there will be an obstruction and Orac's calculations confirm it. It could be Travis. If you get the chance, Avon, kill him - no matter how Blake may try to stop you."

"Very well. But when Blake goes - and go he must as I cannot stand much more of him - I intend to have the Liberator."

"Be warned," Carnell said. "You think it will bring you power and money. I can tell you it may not."

"I'll take that chance. And then I'll lead Blake's crusade - against my will?"

"Against will and reason, I am certain of it," Carnell said. "You've seen some of my methods and you've questioned Orac. You've reached the same conclusion."

"Yes," Avon said, "but I don't feel any - passion - for Blake."

"We all need friends," Carnell said gravely. "You see Blake as an adversary and a hindrance to your ambitions and so he is. But he needs companions and you seem to have a tendency to be driven to help him. If you lose him, I believe you will look for him, just to assure yourself he is safe. No, I don't see it as passion, merely a duty you have shouldered, however unwillingly. It's one of those irritating facts of life: be careful it doesn't ruin yours."

"If I take Blake to Earth myself, I will not lose him. Then your prediction will be wrong, surely?"

"There are endless uncertainties. Blake may reach Earth without your help. Or, if you try to take him, you may die on the way. You have to consider all possibilities."

"And your skill is in deciding what is most possible? Yes,I can see that. But I do intend to be rid of him, Carnell, no matter what you say of my...duty."

"By all means, if you can. Just try not to kill him."

Avon smiled faintly. "There are times," he said, "when I am sorely tempted... If I lose Blake and cannot find him, am I to end up as he is now?"

"Unstable, you mean? Consider the perils you'd face, day in, day out. Imagine it worse by many factors than now. It's very likely you'd suffer severe mental stress."

"But if I know that, I can avoid instability?"

"Perhaps. You could use Orac to monitor your condition, and relax whenever you can... Tell me: why didn't you abandon Blake on Exbar?"

"I couldn't quite bring myself to do it," Avon said. "I suppose you are right: I have to keep him safe. So - I should be wary of such dependencies...yet I am becoming dependent on you. Must I be wary of you too?"

Carnell sighed. "How can I possibly answer that? Where you are concerned, I'm hard put not to betray my own principles."

They finished their meal and retired to a room opening on to a side terrace. "Tonight," Carnell said, "I refuse to talk any more of strategy - at least of strategy relating to Blake and Liberator and the Federation's shortcomings or otherwise. Tonight we will indulge ourselves and talk of lighter things..."

It was, Avon thought contentedly, a pure delight to have a companion who could reason and converse intelligently. Why was not life always like this?

And eventually, of course, the moment came when Carnell was tired of talking and asked the question Avon knew must be said. "The night," Carnell said, "is for lovers, Avon. What is it to be for us?"

Avon stood and Carnell came to him, waiting, almost hesitant.

"Do you remember that day, on Acheron, when we took our prize together?" Avon said. "Do you remember how it was, Carnell?"

"For a few moments we knew one another," Carnell said. "It should have happened then, but we hadn't the time."

"Rejection," Avon said slowly, "is a terrible thing. Do you imagine I will reject you?"

"How can I tell?" Carnell exclaimed. "I can't know everything."

Then Avon smiled, that rare, warm, genuine smile that caught at the heart. "But I am here," he said. "Why else should I come but to...to submit, or whatever you care to call it? How could you ever doubt it?" And then he held out his hands.

The Universe became a small place, just a room where they could be alone together, and the room became a paradise, and they found in one another what each had so long sought and never quite found before. And it was more delightful, more exquisite, than they could ever have imagined.

"When you stood by me and looked at me, on Acheron, I wanted you," Avon said. "But I could not believe it. It was my last day. My flight was booked and I left that evening, never to return."

"I have long predicted a trauma such as this in my life," Carnell said, "though I thought it would probably be a woman. I assessed myself and saw that it must come, that there was no escape. Analysis showed that surrender would be the only therapy. All that I feared was rejection: I was never sure if I would be able to accept it, even with all my training. So the women came and went - perhaps I was searching for one who'd hold me, or perhaps I was anxious to prove none could. And when I found you again, I knew...because it was the only time I had ever really wanted a man, or cared how it might be."

"I love you," Avon said, late in the night. How easy the words were to say. He had never been able to say them to Anna, and he did not know why.

"Could you never talk of love to Anna?" Carnell asked him. "Of all people, surely...?"

"Especially not to her..." They had never touched except when making love, never held hands nor done all those other special little things lovers did. Somehow he had felt she had not wanted an outward show of love, that it would be an intrusion in her privacy. "I loved her so much," he said, "yet I could never tell her. I never knew how." But Carnell was so different - open, demanding, uninhibited. Loving was easy for him and so it was easy for Avon too.

"If you could not tell her, perhaps it was because she could not give," Carnell said. "You should not assume the fault was in you."

"I believed she loved me totally; but it's true, she never told me. I don't think I've ever realised that before."

 _And I cannot tell you what I believe to be the truth,_  Carnell thought, _that she cheated you from start to finish. How could I ever tell you that? Better not to know; better to believe in her. Or better to discover the truth for yourself, Avon._  Perhaps that was the best way?

"You talked of therapy," Avon said as the dawn came. "It doesn't seem to have led to a cure yet. I still want you."

"Ah...but I never said anything about a cure, did I? I don't want a cure. I like it the way it is; don't you? Damn it, Avon - I know you do!"

Avon laughed. "To hell with cures. I'll stick with the therapy."

 

"Psychostrategy," Carnell said, later that morning when they were able to talk sensibly, "is a very inexact science - more so than I'd choose to admit to the ordinary client. I suppose I'm the nearest thing you're ever likely to meet to a seer who doesn't deal in pure fantasy. On the other hand, experience and intuition count for a lot, along with a good deal of logical guesswork and expertise with those machines you so dote on..."

They were walking round his offices. There was a whole building not far from the house with a workforce of several highly-trained operatives and a mass of hardware - alien like that Avon had seen the day before, and very impressive. "I'm amazed that you need all this," Avon said, "no matter how much guesswork you may have to do."

"It's not just for me," Carnell said. "This is one of my Institute's external operations - a haven in case of disaster within the Federation. It's convenient to have it near my own home so that I can keep an eye on things; and useful, mind you. Now, let me introduce you to my aide, Jayelle."

Jayelle was young, pert and strikingly pretty. Avon supposed it was inevitable that Carnell's staff would be mostly women and wondered what effect the charming psychostrategist had on them. But Jayelle was obviously immune to his charms, which was doubtless a blessing, and seemed to treat him like a rather awe-inspiring older brother.

"Delightful, isn't she?" Carnell said, when she was out of the way for a few moments. "Can you imagine what effect she will have on Vila?"

"I dread to think," Avon retorted. "I'd never get him off Skar. You'd better keep her away from him."

"It seems to me you're more of a super-salesman than anything else," Avon remarked later when he had seen everything there was to see and looked over all the hardware with expert enthusiasm. "But what do you do if any of your predictions are wrong?"

"Make off," Carnell replied succinctly. "It doesn't happen very often, but prediction's a risky business. I never guarantee absolute success - it's all in the small print. You know what they say about small print."

Avon grinned. "Tell that to Blake."

"No need: he's already paid. Too late to worry now."

They walked back to Carnell's house, though parkland glittering in spring sunlight. "I miss Earth," Carnell said. "It's much more pleasant here, but I like to be in the thick of things and now I'm exiled. It's infuriating not to be free to come and go as I please."

"When are you going to discuss my own commission?" Avon asked next.

"I've been waiting all morning for you to ask that."

"You don't have anything else to do?"

"With you here? Clients can wait - will have to wait. Now, let's begin at the beginning and go on - eventually - to the end: the most interesting commission I've ever had...do you believe that? Yes, of course you do...

"Here's the trend." The light banter disappeared as Carnell set about explaining his computations. "As you see, I don't like it at all. Travis is a nuisance - interferes with everything. Blake would have been better eliminated when I gave Servalan the chance: I have to be honest about that. Still, we're stuck with him so we must include him. That pilot of yours is something of a problem, but nothing serious. Cally though - she's a disaster, too keen on obeying Blake's every command."

"It is her gravest weakness," Avon agreed tartly.

"Vila's an asset, of course, clever as they come. Whatever you do, hold on to Vila."

"I intend to. He's useful - more than he realises... This matter of Docholli: what haven't you told Blake?"

"We have extensive information on Docholli," Carnell said. "Worse, so has Servalan and it's likely Travis will have seen it. I suspect - no, I am reasonably sure - that Travis will be chasing Docholli."

"But why," Avon asked, "should Travis be interested in Docholli?"

"This is what worries me. His obsession is with Blake, so what is new? Intuition tells me Travis will seek out Docholli. The problem is that I cannot understand why."

"Is it likely to matter - that's the important thing, isn't it?"

"Yes, and it's what causes me anxiety more than anything else. There's something, Avon, something indefinably, disturbing...out there. I've flung everything I can think of at my precious machines, puzzled over it all for many hours. You'll remember the view I showed you from Earth?"

"Of course. Stars upon stars, and somewhere amongst them is Central Control. Is that really the nearest you can get to it?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It is the abiding regret of our Institute that we could not get access to the secret of the true location. We also have agents chasing Docholli and others who might be of use, so far without success, but as you'll have seen from the data I prepared for Blake, I have now managed to compute his likely location."

"I saw. Have you sent an agent of your own there?"

"Yes, but she has not reported yet. I suspect she has been eliminated, so we are trying again. Perhaps Blake will be luckier."

"How," Avon asked him later, "do you assess the far future. For example, what of our future?"

"We cannot be parted indefinitely," Carnell replied. "When you are rid of Blake, you should return here. I don't think that's a difficult prediction to make."

"I accept that. I cannot visualise my future without you."

Later, Carnell said, "I want to talk again of Anna Grant. You blame yourself for her death. I think you should find the man who killed her."

"I've thought of it," Avon replied, "but I don't have the means. Later...everything seems to be later. Damn Blake... Do you know who the torturer was?"

"There's a record," Carnell replied. "Orac can tell you."

"You won't?"

"There's no need as Orac has the data. Ask it when you are ready, and then exorcise her ghost. You'll never be content until you know the truth of her death."  _And you must discover for yourself,_  Carnell thought,  _the truth of the death that never happened and the true identity of your woman. Poor Chesku: I wish him better luck with her than Avon ever had._

"Revenge," Avon remarked. "isn't it against your principles to preach revenge?"

"It depends on circumstances. On this occasion, it might be a suitable catharsis. Think about it."

"I don't like this matter of Blake's dependence," Avon continued. "I resent his assumption that I will respond."

"It's in you - the tendency, against your will, to inspire dependence. You'll face this all your life. Normally you can regard it as a nuisance and reject those who try to follow you, but Blake has had you at his mercy too long. Perhaps you even needed him, for a while."

"If I ever did, now I do not," Avon said shortly. "I am determined to be free of him."

 _You've lost the need for him because you have found me,_  Carnell thought, but he kept the thought to himself. It was possible, he knew, that Avon would come to hate Blake if Blake did not leave him in peace soon; so it was better that Avon did not deliberately throw Carnell in Blake's face also.

"And what will you do when we are not together?" Carnell asked Avon much later.

"Whisper sweet nothings to Orac?"

"Convince me I'm better than Orac!" Carnell insisted slyly.

 

After three days, Vila appeared. "Only for a while," he declared at breakfast, "before I look over the rest of the place."

Later that morning he came to find Carnell. "Can I talk to you."

Predictably...Vila thought with a grin...Carnell smiled at him. "Of course. Have you enjoyed Skar?"

Vila sighed happily. "Best holiday I ever had...and more to come. You're lucky, living here."

"I'd rather be on Earth, but I can see you might prefer not."

"I kept getting arrested and it wasn't much fun. Still, I don't want to talk about Earth, I want to talk about Avon... What am I going to do after Blake's destroyed Central Control - if he ever finds it. But you thought he would, didn't you."

"Probably."

"So...Avon takes Blake back to Earth. Cally will stay with Blake. Even Jenna might...but isn't it likely she'll want Liberator too? What's Avon going to do then?"

"You should ask him that, not me," Carnell reproved lightly. "It really isn't for me to say."

"If Jenna and Avon fight over the Liberator, that leaves me in the middle," Vila said anxiously. "Which one of them should I side with?"

"Which one of them do you want to side with?"  _Trust Vila,_  Carnell thought, greatly amused,  _to spot the thorniest problem;_  and in the resultant wail from Vila, Carnell put himself out to soothe the Delta with the kind of reassurances Vila so obviously needed.

Vila was greatly relieved when Carnell confirmed his own view that he should stay with Avon at all costs. It was a pleasure, Vila felt, to talk to Carnell, such a change to find an Alpha who didn't spend all his time telling Vila to shut up: Carnell was not so haughty as Avon, in spite of his highborn background. "I knew it all along," he said at last. "Avon's the one to trust."

"Of one thing you can be sure," Carnell told him. "Avon would not betray you lightly. And if he did, he'd have a cast-iron reason."

"I'll remember that if he ever knifes me in the back," Vila grinned. "Er...Carnell..."

"Yes, Vila?"

"You and Avon...is it...well, you know...?"

"Absolutely, Vila, if you're saying what you appear to be trying to say."

"That's really good," Vila said. "I always felt he deserved better than that Anna he took up with on Earth."

"You knew her?"

"I saw her, and I didn't like her, not one little bit. Mind you, Avon doesn't know I saw her."

"Then I won't tell him. Why didn't you like her, Vila?"

"It's hard to explain. There were women like her in the Delta areas. They didn't fit in: they were spies for Security. Anna didn't fit in either, with Avon. There was something very odd about her. And he never talked of her - well, he wouldn't to me, I suppose. He didn't talk to me about anything except when he wanted me to do some work for him. But I always felt uneasy about her. And when he said, after we were deported, that 'other people' had let him down...well, I wondered. You know so many things, Carnell. Do you know about Anna?"

"Such as what, Vila?"

"Someone found out what Avon was doing," Vila said. "Tell me the truth. Was Anna a spy for Security."

Carnell considered...not the question, since he knew the answer without any real doubt, but how much he could say. "Yes, Vila," he said at last, "I am sure she was - and she betrayed him. They'd never have known it all but for her."

"It had to be someone close to him," Vila said disgustedly. "And I suppose she betrayed me as well."

"Perhaps. I haven't checked. Do you need to know?"

"No...it's obvious, isn't it! Have you told him?"

"No, Vila, and nor must you. He needs to discover it for himself, and perhaps he'd prefer never to know at all. But if he does find out, he'll need a friend."

"He'll have you."

"Suppose I'm not there, Vila. Who knows what might happen? Look after him for me, won't you?" Carnell shivered suddenly.  _Suppose I'm not there? I must be there, and yet..._

Vila looked at Carnell a little anxiously. Then he said quietly, "Yes," I'll look after him; and I hope he'll look after me. There isn't anyone I respect as much as Avon, not anyone in all the galaxy. I just wish sometimes that he wouldn't insult me so much."

"It's just his way," Carnell said. "The time to start worrying is if the insults stop."

"Really?" Vila was astonished. "I'll remember that too."

The days passed, and the nights. "It's time, hanging in the balance," Carnell said, "as though the galaxy's waiting for some momentous decision."

"The destruction of Central Control will cause havoc throughout the Federation," Avon said. "What will that do to your Institute, Carnell?"

"Not too much. We don't depend on Central Control. We don't approve the principle of one central computer."

"So you'll be pleased if it is found, even if it is then destroyed: is that the real purpose for your approach to Blake? Was it about Central Control all along? Even I was...irrelevant?"

"No," Carnell said. "My main objective was always you: that's the truth, Avon. But I also had to find out what Blake was planning about Central Control. His attack on Earth when he mistook its location was not a disaster for us but a piece of good fortune."

"Psychostrategy," Avon murmured, "is not your prime interest, is it? I think your 'Institute' is a political organisation. Do you seek to overthrow the Federation's régime?"

"No, Avon, merely to ensure it does not annoy us. We are not like Blake."

"Are you going to ask me to stop Blake destroying Central Control?"

"Not even that."

"I still can't decide," Avon mused, "exactly what you are up to. There must be something I haven't deduced correctly."

"At the moment," Carnell remarked, "what I am up to has nothing whatsoever to do with Blake..."

Avon sighed luxuriously. "You are so very good at distracting me...but I'll work it out eventually."

"Eventually," Carnell said, "will do very well. Now is for us - pleasurable things, like this...and this...and..."

At which, Avon lost all interest in psychostrategy for the time being. But after he slept, Carnell still lay wakeful for a very long time. Something was going very wrong...somewhere...and he knew it was to do with Travis. Travis was the joker, always. What had he done now?

 

As is always the way with time, the days seemed to go faster as they grew less, which is both illogical and immutable fact so far as the subjective is concerned. Avon studied and observed, and Carnell, with that strange sense of foreboding for which he could not account, instructed with an intensity which he fought to hide. The unease, which had been with him ever since he had first started to study Blake's objectives in detail, grew ever stronger. He managed, one way and another, to keep most of his anxiety from Avon, but inevitably Avon noticed something in the end.

"Well," he said at length after waiting to be told and hearing nothing, "are you going to tell me what is wrong?"

"I just wish," Carnell replied grimly, "that I knew. Suddenly there's danger all around us, Avon: does that sound fanciful? You'll have to get used to my intuition - and it isn't only mine. I'm receiving data from colleagues which show the same trend I am seeing: not so strongly in every case, and not all of them have enough information to draw conclusions, but I find it when I collate the data. My superior's trying to find out if there's anything disturbing coming through Supreme Command."

Avon knew enough of Carnell now to understand that Carnell's anxiety was not based on fancy. "Do you think this relates to Blake?" he asked.

"Yes - and very strongly. Blake, Travis, Travis's psychosis...I don't know how to quantify it."

It was their last night together. "Why do I feel," Avon asked, "that suddenly you are afraid we may never meet again?" Carnell's fear was flooding over him, almost tangible in its intensity. "Is that what you really think, Carnell?"

"I don't know!" Carnell said savagely. "I don't know what to think. Avon...hold me."

They stared at one another almost desperately. "I'll not give you up," Avon said. "I'd search the galaxy to find you - you know that; but surely it won't be necessary. What can happen to part us?"

"If I knew that, I could change it," Carnell said. "All we can do is wait. All things become clear, in the end."

 

So the last day came and they were awaiting Blake's call. Vila had come back again, reluctant and complaining at the thought of incarceration on Liberator. "Don't worry," Avon said to him. "When Blake's off to Earth, you'll be able to do exactly as you want."

"That'll be nice." Vila looked at Avon thoughtfully. "You'll have Liberator. Am I to stay with you?"

"Do you want to?"

"Well," Vila said, "you won't be able to cope with that ship all by yourself. Even with Carnell around, you might want a little...er...help when the drinks cupboard door gets stuck."

"That's a very convincing reason," Avon murmured. "I assume you're after an easy time: no work, just living off me?"

"Got it in one!" Vila exclaimed, beaming. "Oh...darn it." He glared at his teleport bracelet as Blake's voice suddenly came through it. "I don't want to go back yet; and he doesn't sound very friendly," he said resentfully when Blake had passed on, very peremptorily, the news of his impending arrival and a blunt insistence that Vila and Avon be ready immediately. "Couldn't we manage another two or three days...or even a couple of hours..or even half an hour...while I go and talk to Jayelle?"

"I might have known you'd find her," Avon said, looking resigned.

"I didn't just find her..." Vila grinned broadly.

"They toured the town together, last night," Carnell remarked as he came into the room. He was smiling as usual, but his blue eyes were not. "Blake's here?"

"Yes," Avon said, "and he didn't seem particularly friendly. Doubtless his planet search has not been successful."

"More likely that strange intermittent instability is plaguing him. There's something very specific disturbing him and you must discover its cause: he's not quite safe to be with, at the moment."

"He's not quite safe to be with at any time," Avon retorted. "But, yes...I will watch him."

"Avon," Blake's voice came again, "we're in geostationary orbit now. Are you ready to come up?"

"Give me three minutes," Avon said. He glanced at Vila, who suddenly noticed something vitally important at the other end of the room and went hurriedly off to look at it. "I won't accept," Avon said to Carnell, "that this is the last time."

"Tell me everything that happens," Carnell replied, "however slight, however unimportant. It all builds up into a pattern... Use Orac as I would: it might find something I've missed."

 _What's wrong,_  Vila wondered anxiously. He could not help hearing what was being said.

"Advise me, wherever you go," Avon said. "If I know where you are...you can see it might help. And now..." He held out his hands and Carnell took them, holding them close. It was a long time before Avon could finally force himself to break away, using all the willpower he possessed.

"Farewell is a word I'll not use," Carnell said. "Au revoir - my dearest love." And then he moved away.

"Come, Vila," Avon said, and Vila returned to stand beside him. Avon touched his teleport bracelet. "Now, Blake." He stared at Carnell.

Carnell stared back, and apprehension crawled around him. He shivered as the teleport took Avon and Vila away and then clenched his fists as he walked purposefully out of the room and up to his consoles.  _I'll not accept it,_  he thought.  _I'll not have all my strategies end in disaster. There has to be an answer, and I'll find it. Damn it...I must find it._

 

### CHAPTER TWO

"Well?" Yes, Avon thought as they faced one another in the teleport section, Blake looked distinctly irritable. Avon was not in the least in the mood for Blake, and most particularly not since Blake looked as though he was spoiling for a fight.

"I'm relieved you managed to be ready on time," Blake said sourly. "I wouldn't have been at all surprised if you'd thought up some excuse to stay another two weeks with that..."

"'Charlatan' is the description you used before," Avon countered acidly. "I'm not interest in abuse, Blake. If you've nothing useful to say..."

"You'd better have something useful to say!" Blake snarled. "Two weeks you've had lounging about on Skar. Two weeks to study those strategies - if they're any use and I'm beginning to doubt it from what I've seen of them. What the devil did I pay the man for?"

Avon's mouth set in a grim line of anger. He turned his back on Blake and walked out of the teleport section. Vila followed disconsolately.

"You!" Blake flashed after Vila. "What's he been up to, eh? Has he done any work at all?"

Vila gasped, and swung round to face Blake. "Look here," he said furiously, "they've both been trying to help you find that darned Central Control in spite of thinking you're off your head at the best of times. How dare you shout at us! How dare you suggest Avon hasn't done any work for you! And why should he? He isn't your slave."

Ahead of them, Avon raised his eyebrows. A night out - how many nights out? - with Jayelle must have given Vila a sudden burst of confidence. But Blake - that was another matter. Blake had never, even at his worst, ever been totally unreasonable, but now he was becoming impossible. What the devil was wrong with him?

Avon walked on to the flight deck. Cally's eyes came to him instantly and he saw the pain there.  _It's futile for her to dream about Carnell,_  he thought. **'Nothing I can say could help her,'**  Carnell had told him.  **'She doesn't want advice, only love. She wouldn't listen to me - she'd only beg me to surrender to her...'**   _She'll have to learn to accept it,_  Avon thought, and looked at Jenna. "Blake's not in the best of moods," he remarked. "What have you done to upset him?"

"I presume you don't intend to be provocative," Jenna replied smoothly. Then she said, "To be honest, I'm glad you're back. Blake's been very much on edge. Our planet search was a complete waste of time."

"I said it would be. If Blake had paused to study Carnell's data, he'd have found a very clear lead on Docholli's likely hideout."

"I found it myself," Jenna admitted, "but not until we were out on a tedious wild goose chase - Blake didn't give me much time and even now I've only touched on parts of the strategy."

"But enough to see its value, no doubt? I suppose Blake hasn't even glanced at it?"

"Glanced - yes. Sometimes he seems really interested and starts to think it through. And then, just when I think he's really getting down to considering it properly, he flings everything aside, mouths insults about Carnell playing tricks on us and you believing every word and then..." She stopped abruptly as Blake pounded on to the flight deck.

"And then wondering just what the two of them were getting up to on Skar, you were going to say!" Blake flashed at her.

"Objectivity," Avon said coldly to Blake, "might be a useful concept for you to consider just now; and common sense, of course. What's the matter with you, Blake? You need all the help you can get to find Central Control."

"Help - from Servalan's lackey? More like he's lining us up ready for her to pick off. But of course you'd agree with everything he says, wouldn't you! A nice, cosy friendship...or is it more than that, at last? We all know what Carnell was after. Do we now assume he's got it?"

Avon could feel Cally's bitter stare boring into him.  _I don't have time to worry about her tender susceptibilities,_  he thought angrily. "What's wrong, Blake?" he asked in dangerous, silky tones. "Are you jealous?"

"I, jealous? Avon, you must be insane."

Avon laughed sarcastically. "Insanity is a word you should use with great caution, Blake."

Blake advanced on Avon suddenly and seized his shoulder. "Don't tell me to take my hand off you!" he hissed. "You'd prefer his hand, we all know, but he isn't here just now."

Avon reached up and seized Blake's wrist in a steely grip which Blake knew, somewhere behind his blind rage, would be near-impossible to break. "You can't accept reasoned commonsense any more," Avon said icily. "Are you sure you're capable of finding Central Control?" He wrenched Blake's hand off his shoulder, stared at it, and then, as if after deep consideration, slowly released his fingers.

Blake jerked his hand back to his side, repressing an instinctive desire to drive his fist straight at Avon's self-satisfied, cynical mouth. "What would you know about Central Control?" he demanded. "You've been too busy amusing yourself day and night with your handsome friend. And we can all guess what you've been getting up to in the nights...if we want to think about it, which is doubtful."

"That's enough!" Jenna's crisp voice cut across the flight deck, checking Avon as he was about to hit Blake across the face. "Blake, I insist you take a rest from chasing Docholli and spend some time discussing Carnell's strategies with Avon...and discussing them sensibly, amicably and, for heaven's sake, quietly."

Blake stared at her and it seemed as though something clicked in his brain, switching his mood from violence to calm common sense. "Of course you are right, Jenna," he said slowly. "I must be a little overwrought - disappointed that we've wasted these last two weeks." He looked at Avon quite apologetically. "You'll have to put it down to stress - as Carnell would doubtless say. Avon, I apologise. Some of the things I've said were unpardonable."

Avon looked at Blake levelly for a moment and then shrugged. "Forget it," he said shortly. "If you want to talk to me about Carnell's strategies, I am available." He walked across to Orac and picked up the small machine. "I shall be in my cabin," he said, and left the flight deck. After a momentary hesitation, Blake followed him.

"What exactly is wrong with Blake?" Vila demanded of Cally.

"I don't know," she replied gravely. "Vila - I really don't know."

 

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  We've finally found out what was wrong with Blake. He greeted me as though I were Servalan's office boy and it nearly ended in a fight: more your style than mine, from what I recall of our University days and your reputation. Still, I could see he was not himself... Jenna persuaded him to rest and we were on our way to Del l0, grid reference...when he... As you can see, we were lucky and no thanks to Jenna or Vila. Only Cally showed any sense. The whole incident was a farce, with Travis prancing around like some Egyptian mummy. You wold have been very amused, I suppose. I can't think why I didn't recognise him. But at least we now know what was wrong with Blake and he's back to what he was...well, as normal as he's ever likely to be... Did I tell you I recognised your father amongst those High Councillors? How like him you are... My love.  **Avon."**

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  Another of Servalan's games, I see, and an inept one at that. I can assure you it didn't come from any of my colleagues or I'd have the originator drummed out of the Institute! So, another prediction comes up to scratch? That's good news, though entirely predictable since the prediction came from me. You'd expect me to say that, wouldn't you? Not that the event was good, not in the least. I still can't put my finger on what Travis is up to. ...Talking of fingers, let us discuss your hands, my dearest, and just precisely what I'd like you to do with them... I suspect Servalan is going to cause a great deal of trouble very soon, by the way. There are arguments in High Council which I cannot discuss with you now, but I believe Servalan has something to do with provoking them deliberately. So be extra-careful, won't you? Dearest, my love and...explicitly...kisses anywhere. If that doesn't make you smile (and more), I'll be quite annoyed, I can tell you.  **Carnell."**

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  We've only just returned from Freedom City where Vila and I had a killing time in one way and thoroughly enjoyed it: there are times when Vila can actually be useful and he isn't hampered by any inconvenient moral attitudes. His grey cells are another matter and he nearly got himself killed, but it all worked out very well in the end... Blake had a very earnest time chasing Docholli and yet again failed to kill Travis, which was no surprise whatsoever. Naturally, I didn't even get to see him. I begin to wonder if Blake would happily keep me away, just to ensure I didn't kill him. ...Yes, it did make me smile (and more). You don't need to be annoyed at all. My love,  **Avon.**

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  Servalan is definitely up to something. I wouldn't be surprised if she were to seize the Presidency any day now... So she was in Freedom City? Very suspicious. But was she after Travis, or Central Control? I've been considering the matter of Central Control's alternative designation of Star One and it's very significant. I've even dredged up some information about it...herewith. Mysterious, isn't it! My assessment follows at the end of this message and I suggest you consider it very seriously indeed. There are other things about Star One which I cannot tell you without clearance from my Director. I'll see if I can get it, so be patient... Goth? A nauseating place, I believe, and the name should tell you a good deal if you remember your history: I assure you you won't like it all and perhaps you should arrange to stay away! I am sure Travis will go there - he's bound to have the same information if he's seen Docholli and you can expect to see Servalan hanging around as well (decoratively, of course). ...Dearest beloved, take the greatest care. Whatever the danger is, it's very close now, and it's bound up with Star One... Why does that name bother me so much? Analysing the future can be so fascinating, yet now it is terrifying. Avon, Avon, I fear for both of us...my dearest love.  **Carnell.**

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  The events on Goth seem to have resembled some crazed fairy-tale, but Blake has got his co-ordinates for Star One...which are... From what I hear, the place was revolting - certainly I managed to stay away though perhaps I should have gone, since Travis was there, and killed him. Still, too late now... And Servalan turned up...you will be pleased to be proved right again. Star One...out into the void. Thank heaven for Liberator's power! Blake is set on destroying Star One - I could not change his mind, try though I did. He did finally take in your strategies once the Del 10 business was exorcised from him, and he has tried to follow them somewhat, but I suppose he's like Servalan...determined to improvise. I've made it clear to him that I am taking notice of everything you've told us about Star One, whether he likes it or not, and that when this wretched business is over I intend to be rid of him for good and all... Carnell, I remember every moment we have spent together, from that first instant I saw you on Acheron and I was so appalled to discover I could want you...  **Avon.**

 **"...Gort to Carnell.**  It is a relief to know where Central Control is at last. The minefields beyond Star One have not, so far as we can ascertain, been disturbed since they were laid down. We have assumed the aliens have not approached this galaxy again, but we could be wrong. Star One is no longer working efficiently and many planets are now affected. I believe you are already aware of many of the problems. I can tell you it is very much more serious even than you have understood. You may compute, as I do now, that there is alien interference. I desperately hope I am wrong, but if I am right your friend Avon is heading right into it without enough information to give hope for his safety. As for Servalan, she may seize this turmoil to take control of High Council. I shall not defy her. Our policy will be to co-operate with her, and see how she progresses.

 **"...** I am not actually empowered by High Council to allow you to discuss any of these matters with Avon, but I know you will now make your own decision and I will back you, for the situation may be too serious to worry about protocol. Do as you will, so long as you warn Avon to keep your revelations to himself, as much as he can.

 **"...** I approve wholeheartedly of your strategies and hope they'll succeed in spite of these problems now. I give you my assurance of every possible assistance. And finally, my dear young friend, my notification that you have indeed been elected to succeed me as Director just as soon as we can get together. I know you have been hoping for this, and now it is fact as I shall retire, officially, within the month. It only waits on the ceremony and you are, as of now, effectively in charge. My good wishes, my dear Director and High Councillor Carnell of the Terran Federation, for your future success... **Ivan Gort."**

 **** _The Directorship,_  Carnell thought,  _and the High Councillorship that automatically goes with it._  He should have been elated, even if it was not entirely unexpected, but Avon and Star One were more important now. He reached for the emergency alert control on his console. "Assemble in the conference room," he instructed his staff. "There are very grave matters to discuss."

But first, an urgent message to Avon, in the hope of alerting him before he was out of reach - perhaps for ever.

 **"...UTMOST PRIORITY, Carnell to Avon.**  I have tried to reach you person-to-person but the distance is too great and I cannot wait for a delay-message live. It is my conviction, based on all the available data, that Star One has been infiltrated by a hostile extra-galactic force. There is a history of extra-galactic interference in the area and, as you near Star One, Orac will advise you of defences positioned in the void which you will approach only at your peril. Space Command are already aware of the implications and now that we have the location of Star One, forces will be sent to investigate immediately. I am aware this may cause Blake problems, but the defence of humanity is of more importance now. I can say no more that will be of any use to you except to warn you to watch out - as always - for Travis. Perhaps we can guess what he has done and all because he could not catch Blake? ...Avon, think of me, remember me, and know that whatever I do, it is for love of you...always.  **Carnell."**

 ****But even as he sent the message, he had the foreboding it would arrive too late. And although he welcomed his promotion, he cursed the bitter fact that it had not come sooner and then he would have been free to tell Avon everything instead of always holding back...holding back so many of his fears.

"You will realise the implications," he said to his staff. "You've seen much of the data I've seen, and had the chance to make the analyses. Star One is out here..." He pointed on his star chart to a dim star way beyond the theoretical edge of the galaxy. "It is a dying white dwarf with one Earth-size planet. Our efforts have been rewarded at last and the rebel Blake has proved useful in finding it for us. You will understand now one of my reasons for working with him.

"Blake may destroy Central Control, but if it has been infiltrated by aliens he may spare it. Let us hope it survives, for it should be dismantled carefully, not blown to smithereens rebel-fashion. Ah well...it was always a calculated risk. Perhaps the alien interference will save Star One for us, unless the aliens themselves destroy it.

"Space Command have sent the Fleet on its way, and technicians will follow on High Council's orders. We too must have a presence - a subtle influence to ensure our interests are not disregarded, and several ships will proceed to the area. One will leave from here within the hour. Those of you who go will understand the risks: you may not survive. If there is to be an intergalactic war, you may be lost, or stranded on a hostile planet for the rest of your lives. You have my personal guarantee we will search for you."

"And what will you do, Director?" Jayelle asked him. For of course they already knew of his promotion. It was not to be kept a secret, at least within the Institute.

"My strategy is still operating," Carnell said. "I must continue to monitor it."

"So you must go to the war zone - if there is to be a war zone?" Jayelle was openly dismayed. "Surely you of all people should keep away?"

"Surely I should, but all life is a gamble, Jayelle. There are things I have to do and they cannot be done here. I shall take our five brave technicians to rendezvous with the Federation forces, and then I must attend to Blake. If you have any problems, consult Ex-Director Gort: he will be my deputy."

He looked at them all, with that proud, so characteristic lift of the chin, the inevitable smile, the level, inspiring gaze. They loved him, every one of them, in their different ways, and would follow him to the death or beyond. It was going to be very difficult, Jayelle thought wryly, to keep everyone from going with him, no matter what the risk.

"And finally," he said, "you know by now that Servalan has declared herself President. Remember that she is a clever, capable woman in spite of her faults, and we will support her at all times...at all times. Is that clearly understood?" There was a murmur of assent and he smiled approvingly. "That's all," he said. "Now we must prepare to leave." One hour later, his ship departed for the war zone.

Near Sarran, Orac intercepted Carnell's message, repeated it to Avon who was unconscious in his life capsule, and then held it for replay later. And Avon's message back to Carnell, sent many hours after when at last he had the opportunity to do it, waited patiently in Carnell's terminal on Skar, unwatched for it was personal to Carnell only and he never came, impossible to redirect for Carnell was...missing.

 

### CHAPTER THREE

To Avon, the aftermath of the Andromedan invasion was a frustrating time. It was bad enough to have to face the Federation intruders - and the tedious pilot Tarrant on Liberator - and even worse to be unable to raise Carnell via Orac. The only response he could get was that Carnell was "somewhere" inaccessible in the war zone and could not be contacted.  _Ominous,_  Avon thought anxiously, but he would not panic. Carnell was well able to take care of himself - so long as he had not ventured right into the fray and been taken by some stray plasma bolt. It was always the grimmest possibility, but Avon refused to think of it yet. Data was what mattered and, until he had data, he would get on with sorting out his own problems.

The days passed and he did become anxious. It was too long, far too long... Jayelle, with instructions to co-operate with Avon on anything which did not involve Federation security or Institute policy, assured him they were searching for Carnell, and perhaps that worried him more than anything that had happened before; for if they could not find Carnell, who would?

Avon was also faced with the problem of finding Blake and Jenna. With Orac, he instituted his own search program for all three of them but, where Carnell was concerned, Orac was hampered for it did not have sufficient information. True to his promise, Carnell had sent route data at first, and then suddenly the data had ceased.

"Tell me," Avon said to Orac, not for the first time, "what you deduce."

+I do not deduce destruction of his ship: I have told you that before,+ Orac said pettishly. +But there was disturbance in the area - he was travelling through the thick of the fighting. His stated destination was the system Sandek, but he did not reach it. He made a detour - perhaps to avoid an alien - and the transmissions ceased in the region of system Govall: I can give you the exact location.+

"Put it on the main screen," Avon said, and he stared as he had stared so often before in the past weeks at the star sector where Carnell's ship was last recorded. It was no different to the information Jayelle had given him. Somewhere here, Carnell was - or had been. Avon shut his mind to the probability that Carnell was dead and tried, yet again, to find some inspiration; but none came.

Next he returned to what Orac could tell him of Jenna and Blake. That information too was inconclusive - a record of their routes for so long as Orac had been able to follow them and then...also...nothing.

"Is it now safe to return to the war zone?" Avon enquired next.

+The devastation is great,+ Orac replied, +and the conditions dangerous in many areas. Federation ships abound, which would cause you acute difficulties. Indeed, I would say that the Federation presence would be the prime obstacle.+

It was as it had been all along - the difficulty of searching when Federation ships, many no longer properly in contact with their bases, or even short of officers and serving as havens for mutinous crews, were roving about ready to strike at anything suspicious. Liberator, notorious, alien and threatening, wanted by Servalan, would be a prime target. "But," Avon said later to his companions, "we can't search from here. We have to go back into the war zone."

"Is it necessary to search at all?" Tarrant demanded. Having just got his hands on the most exciting ship he'd ever encountered, he had no desire to lose it and his life as well in a futile - surely it was futile - search for some rebel figurehead in whom Tarrant had never had the slightest interest, and a woman who was undoubtedly pretty but, if found, would be arguing with Tarrant over the right to pilot Liberator.

Needless to say, Avon had not mentioned Carnell, though Vila could guess that he was on Avon's mind, since he knew from the grim, dark look in Avon's eyes, and from asking Orac himself, that Carnell too was missing. It was a pity, Vila thought, that Blake and Carnell were both lost, and a pity that Avon would undoubtedly risk Liberator in order to find them. As for Jenna, he too wondered what would happen if she and Tarrant ever met up. Vila liked a quiet life and he did not imagine that Liberator with two strong-willed, self-opinionated pilots - each vying with Avon for top spot - would ever be quiet. Had it ever been quiet? No, but at least only Avon and Blake had really disrupted the peace and Blake had been demonstrably in charge. Tarrant was quite a different matter - bumptious, energetic, large...very large. It was bad enough having him endlessly defying Avon. And who would Avon favour as his pilot?  _Problems, problems,_  thought Vila gloomily,  _and Avon undoubtedly anxious for Carnell as well. Some hopes for a quiet life!_

"I have an obligation to Blake," Avon said. "I shall try to find him."

"After all," Cally commented, "he'd do the same for us. Let's not be churlish."

"If being churlish means staying alive, we could consider staying alive," Tarrant remarked, but he accepted that he was overruled by the majority for even Dayna was willing to take part in a search so long as it was not extended indefinitely.

"Very well," Avon said, "we return to the war zone - now."

Avon had not discussed Carnell with Cally, and she had not dared to insist. But she too had questioned Orac and now knew almost as much as Avon apart from such information as Avon had blocked from the rest of the crew. So when Liberator arrived in the Govall sector, she knew what Avon was about.

"This sector is not in the search area," Tarrant had complained immediately. "Furthermore, it's riddled with Federation ships."

"This sector is in my search area and we'll stay as long as I deem necessary," Avon snarled. And Tarrant realised that in this Avon would not be moved.

 

Carnell had deposited his technicians on a Federation support vessel, although he had avoided disclosing his own presence to the ship's commander as he was still technically an exile. Then he instructed his pilot to direct the ship straight through the war zone.

"Sir," the pilot said, "that could be suicide."

"I know," Carnell responded, "but we have a vital mission, Tora. We have a rebel leader to find, if we can."

"I see. I presume you mean Blake?"

"I do mean Blake. He's on the loose, Tora, and I don't want Servalan's people finding him first."

"It won't be easy." But Tora knew Carnell was keeping in touch with the rebel Avon via Liberator's unusual data processor, Orac. "Presumably you have information on Blake from Orac?"

"Therein," Carnell replied, "lies a problem. Orac is with Avon, not Blake." He did not personally object to that; indeed it was a relief, as he could check more easily on Avon's safety. "Blake is vulnerable - too well-known to miss. Furthermore, my predictions show that Blake and Avon will be separated and..."

"...And you want to ensure you are right?" Tora laughed. He knew there were many times when psychostrategists chose to help the predictions along a little. It was all political, really.

Carnell smiled broadly. "I know it sounds like that, but I would not be too concerned if Blake returned to Liberator as Avon could then watch him. But the last thing I want is Blake being used by Servalan."

"Do you see her as a problem too?"

"No," Carnell replied, "unless she allows her undoubted fancy for Avon to tempt her into following him around instead of ruling her Empire."

 _She's not the only one with a fancy for Kerr Avon,_  Tora thought, smiling to himself. Everyone had noticed Carnell's interest in Avon, and Avon's response.

Carnell sent another routine message to Orac and after a short while received a reply, which stated that Avon's capsule had landed on some planet called Sarran, that Avon was safe but unconscious, that Jenna was on board a cargo ship heading for Morphaniel, that Cally and Vila had not yet called in, and that Blake was heading for the planet Epheron in the Loritol system. "So we go to Loritol," Carnell informed his crew.

"It will be risky," Tora said. "You don't need to risk your life, Director. Allow us to leave you somewhere safe."

"Tora," Carnell replied firmly, "we are not going to argue about this. Blake knows me, and might trust me just enough to allow me to - er - kidnap him. Furthermore, I have a useful gadget which just might help me trace him quickly." He held up a delicate bracelet decorated with mysterious hieroglyphics. "This," he said, "is a Liberator teleport bracelet which Avon kindly allowed me to keep. Blake will also have one."

"If we use it, Liberator might trace our call?" Tora suggested.

"Only if it is within range, and the range is not great. In any case, we could just advise that we are helping to find survivors - any survivors."

After managing to avoid most hostiles and destroying a few without any real damage to themselves, they reached the Loritol system and drifted into geostationary orbit around Epheron. "Now," Carnell said, "let's try the bracelet." And he was not too surprised when Blake soon answered.

"Carnell?" Blake queried, astonished. "But how...?"

"It doesn't matter how," Carnell replied. "We're here and can pick you up - or would you rather stay on Epheron?"

Blake would not; and he had no particular reason to be suspicious of Carnell. "I'm not too badly hurt," he informed Carnell when he was safe on the ship. "It's just a rather tedious wound."

"You'd best have it attended to," Carnell replied. "But first, how did it happen?"

"Can't you guess?" Blake was annoyed. He resented having to admit that Travis of all people had winged him.

"Travis? Are you going to tell me about it?"

Blake did so briefly. "So you see," he finished, "we did not, ourselves, destroy Star One after all."

"But you wanted to. So you've succeeded."

Blake frowned. "I suppose so."

And Avon had killed Travis, as Carnell had predicted. But how had Travis met up with Andromedans? Why should they deal with the likes of him when they could have subverted someone far more powerful - a High Councillor, or a senior member of the Terra Nostra? Perhaps they had felt that only someone as unbalanced as Travis had by then become would betray the whole galaxy.

Carnell took Blake to the medical unit. "Sendava's in charge... Look after him, Sendava." And Sendava understood perfectly well that Blake was to be, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner in the medical unit.

Blake was persuaded to shower before the wound was dressed, and then he looked around for his clothes. "They're being cleaned for you," Sendava said.

"The bracelet, then. I'd like to call my ship."

Sendava looked surprised. "I don't remember a bracelet... Oh yes, some kind of bangle, wasn't it? It'll be safe with the other things."

"Perhaps you could get it for me?" Blake was not suspicious yet, but becoming slightly irritated. Twenty minutes later he was distinctly annoyed. "If you won't get the bracelet, then get me Carnell - immediately!"

"I really cannot pass out orders to my superior," Sendava replied with an air of reproof. "I am sure he will come to see you soon."

"'Soon' will not do. Now, if you please." Blake started to rise from the couch where he had been relaxing, and found himself gripped by a forcefield. "What the devil...?"

"I regret," Sendava said politely, "that I am under orders to keep you here. My superior will talk to you later."

"So it was a trick!" Blake snarled. "Carnell's been playing us along all the time. I might have known... On your way to Servalan, are you?"

"I cannot answer questions," Sendava replied flatly. "You will have to wait."

 

"There seems to be a good deal of activity up ahead," Tora was remarking to Carnell. "I think we should avoid it."

"By all means. Evasion course."

"We'll go into Govall sector, I think," Tora continued.

The ship raced on, heading for Skar, but indirectly now. Accepting the delay as he accepted most variations in his plans with philosophical calm, Carnell was just contemplating a talk with Blake when Tora said, "There's a call coming in - sounds like a distress beacon."

They listened to the prerecorded message for assistance. "Grant," Carnell mused, "Del Grant... If it is the Del Grant I know of, he might be very useful." But there must be many in the galaxy with that name; the chance was pretty remote. Nonetheless... "We'll pick him up," Carnell said.

Grant had been stranded on an uninhabited Earth-like planet circling Govall Prime and was very relieved to be picked up. "I really thought I'd had it, this time," he remarked as he came on to the bridge. "My ship just landed without blowing up, but it was close. My pilot was injured, and my navigator too."

"Our medical unit will make them comfortable. You're not hurt yourself?"

"No. I was the lucky one - knocked unconscious but otherwise intact." He looked at his rescuer curiously. "I'm grateful to you..."

"My name is Carnell."

The name meant nothing to Grant. "Well, if there's ever anything I can do for you, just say."

Carnell smiled at him. "There is," he said. "Listen while I explain...

"You are a mercenary," Carnell said. "You have...had...a sister called Anna." The error was not a slip of the tongue, but intentional. He wished to know if Grant was certain of his sister's death.

"Had," Grant said bitterly. "She was murdered..." He hesitated. This Carnell was probably a Federation official of some kind, certainly had an air of considerable authority and a luxurious ship. "How do you know me?" he demanded.

"It's my profession to know these things," Carnell replied. "I am a member of the Institute of Pyschostrategic Studies."

"A puppeteer?" Grant was immediately interested, and relieved. Puppeteers were not Federation officials. Possibly, then, Carnell could be trusted. "My sister died in a Federation jail, under torture," he said. "If you know me, you must know that."

"Yes," Carnell said neutrally. He waited for a moment until the pain in Grant's eyes had faded a little and then continued, "I've an acquaintance of yours on board - Roj Blake."

"Blake? You mean he's left the Liberator - or has he lost it?"

"He's lost it. They had to abandon ship. We found him on Epheron."

"I'll be happy to talk to Blake!"

"He'll probably be happier still to talk to you," Carnell said with a grin. "I have him under restraint in the medical unit."

"Under... You mean a prisoner?" Grant frowned. "Are you going to hand him over to the Federation authorities."

"Perhaps...perhaps not."

"What's that supposed to mean? Look, I've no special loyalty to Blake but I'm not a bounty hunter, Carnell."

"Think of my profession," Carnell said. "Understand too that I am the most senior officer of my Institute."

"The Director?" Grant raised his eyebrows. "I thought that was High Councillor Gort."

"It was...still is, so far as the Federation hierarchy is aware. It merely awaits the ceremony."

"And the High Councillorship follows automatically. I'm impressed - High Councillor Carnell. What has this to do with Blake?"

"Blake is part of a strategy I am operating. There are reasons why I do not wish him to return to the Liberator at present - if at all."

"I see...or rather, I don't see. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you can be useful to me. A favour for a favour, Grant. Are you willing?"

"Tell me what the favour is and then I'll tell you if I am willing."

"Very well," Carnell said, "but first, strategy: Roj Blake and...Kerr Avon."

"Avon and I were friends," Grant said. "I won't work against him, Carnell."

"You won't need to," Carnell replied. "Blake is a pawn in my strategy. Avon is not. Avon is...important to me. I also regard him as a friend. Now, listen and I will tell you something of what the Director of the Institute for Psychostrategic Studies has to know and to plan and to do, and then you will understand what I want of you. It starts with a man who sees himself as Saviour of the galaxy, and a man who wants to be so rich that no-one can touch him...and a catalyst whose profession is to manipulate, control and organise the environment for the greater glory of..."

"For whose greater glory?" Grant queried when Carnell did not finish the sentence. "Or can't you tell me that."

"Ah, that's the mystery," Carnell replied. "Let me start at the beginning, and you will see."

He would not tell Grant everything, of course, merely enough to gain his confidence and understanding, for Grant could be useful indeed.

"So," Grant said later, "you are going to use Blake in order to rearrange the Federation hierarchy. That's very impressive, if it works."

"It should work, eventually. Otherwise, I shall just rearrange the strategy to suit changed circumstances. Strategies can always be altered, the end result manipulated towards something like success, or the objectives redrawn."

"So yours is a political organisation: you work to commission but it's only a front. You seek to control High Council and, ultimately, the Federation."

 _He has seen it clearly,_  Carnell thought.  _This man knows what's what: he will be a pleasure to work with._  He was beginning to like Del Grant very much indeed. "The commissions and other strategies leave us independent," he said. "We can't exist on thin air and hopes...and I admit I enjoy the challenges we are given." He set aside the matter of High Council: that was not to be Grant's concern.

"So what do you actually want me to do?"

"Deal with Blake for me. I need a man I can trust, whom Blake will also trust. He does not know you are here and will not - my people will not tell him and your crew are segregated from him. Once we are out of the war zone, I shall put you down on some safe planet, possibly Cazadel. I shall give you money and you can use it to buy yourself a new ship."

"Generous," Grant said. "You are keen on your plan."

"Carnell laughed. "Of course... I shall also deposit Blake on the same planet, and you will accidentally find him. You will be unable to trace Liberator for him and his teleport bracelet will be lost - so sad. You will take him with you...and conveniently lose him again on a planet I shall specify."

"We just abandon him?"

"More or less - but we shall know where he is."

"But what's the purpose of it all? I can understand your strategy relating to the Federation, but how does Blake fit in?"

"I need Blake to lose the Liberator for good," Carnell said. "The Liberator is needed for...another purpose. I want Blake to start a new revolution in a new way. I've studied the man and I can see how he will do it. I want him stranded so that he must remake his revolution by himself...without Avon."

"So Avon gets Liberator."

"As I have predicted...so it must happen, don't you agree?"

Grant grinned broadly. "You're manipulating Avon too. Does he want to lead rebels?"

"Not much, but he'll do it - long enough to suit my purpose."

It sounded reasonable to Grant: a new ship, Blake out of Avon's way which would please Avon no end, a difficult passenger but only for a short time, Liberator unharmed, Avon... "One condition," Grant said, "which is that you give me your personal word that you do not work against Avon, not now, not ever. I will not betray Avon."

 

"On my honour," Carnell replied, "I am protecting Avon. Believe it."

Grant was now convinced that, at least where Avon was concerned, Carnell could be trusted. "Very well," he said. "But I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Blake finds out you've tricked him."

"He probably won't," Carnell said blandly, "or at least, he won't see the extent of the trick, and I'm certainly not going to tell him."

 

Carnell went to his cabin and sent another message to Orac, giving his present position, and learned that Avon had just returned to Liberator. He sighed with relief over that welcome piece of news; but now, again, he must conceal his activities from Avon, must take his ship out of the war zone and off to Cazadel, and there instruct Grant to leave Blake on an insignificant planet at the edge of the Federation's influence, a lawless, damp, ugly place which he had chosen after some thought as the base for Blake's new revolution: an Earth-type planet called Gauda Prime. It would do, he had decided, as well as any other and it would keep Blake out of his way for a long time to come.

Next morning he went to see Blake who, he learned, had been creating all the previous evening until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

"So," Blake snarled, "you are a cheat, aren't you! 'On the run from Servalan', eh? Now I know the truth, you..."

Carnell sighed dramatically. "Not at all. I'm not handing you over to Servalan. I'll take you to some safe planet and leave you. From then you're on your own."

"You don't need to take me anywhere," Blake responded tersely. "Just give me my teleport bracelet and Avon will come to get me."

"I regret I can't do that. I haven't the slightest idea where Avon is, nor the time to hunt for him."

"I see. So much for the grand romance! You don't give a damn what's happened to him."

"I expect he's safe enough somewhere," Carnell said. "You can look for him after we've left you."

"And you can't even be bothered..."

"Your revolution," Carnell interrupted, "is of no interest to me."

"You worked for me..."

"Money," Carnell said pointedly. "I work solely for money."

"I shall make a special effort to remember to tell Avon that," Blake said viciously. "I think he will be interested to hear how you have tricked him."

"There are tricks and tricks," Carnell murmured cryptically. "Still...you'll soon be off my ship and free to roam as you please. We'll drop you within the next two days or so."

"Excellent," Blake said sarcastically. "Somewhere inhabited, I hope, with a breathable atmosphere."

"We might be able to manage that much." Carnell turned to leave, but Blake suddenly lunged at him and gripped hold of his shoulder. "I'm a prisoner on your ship," he said savagely. "You pretend to save me and then lock me up. What's all this about, Carnell, and what has it to do with Avon?"

"Why should it have anything to do with Avon?"

"I just had this idea that you really were interested in him...more than interested. Or have you deceived him just as you have deceived me? What are you going to do about Avon, Carnell?"

"Must I do anything? He can arrange his own life."

Blake's mouth twisted with annoyance. "Games are your hobby...you're playing games with both of us. What game will you inflict on Avon?"

"Do you know, I don't think I'm going to tell you," Carnell said lightly.

Blake was still clutching Carnell's shoulder. It occurred to him to wonder, furiously, how Carnell might have reacted if it had been Avon in his place. "I hope Avon finds you out," he hissed. "I don't like to think of him trusting you."

Carnell was growing bored with Blake. "If you don't release me, I shall throw you off," he remarked. Blake removed his hand, looking at it as thought he had been touching something unusually slimy. Carnell grinned nastily. "Do you ever," he enquired, "analyse your own relationship with Avon?" He intended to disorientate Blake: it was part of the strategy.

"What the devil's that supposed to mean? My relationship with Avon is one of friendship. So ought yours to have been; or preferably no relationship at all, given your deceit now. Poor Avon: he doesn't take kindly to being cheated."

"But suppose he'd asked you for more than friendship, Blake. What would you have done then?"

"I sincerely hope he wouldn't have asked any such thing. Are you suggesting that I...?"

"Why, yes," Carnell responded coolly, "that is exactly what I am suggesting. Think about yourself critically instead of blustering and ranting. Ask yourself what you would have wanted to give...if you had been asked. Imagine it, Blake."

"You're perverted," Blake said in disgust. "Avon's well rid of you."

"Imagine it," Carnell repeated softly. "Imagine Avon...at your mercy. No sarcasm, no evasion, but willing, delightful...submitting. Think of it."

"When I get back to Liberator," Blake said, "I am going to repeat to Avon exactly what you have said, how you have betrayed him. Avon will come after you, Carnell - I know. He is a vengeful man."

"Oh,I know," Carnell replied. "Vengeful...but fascinating." He walked to the door and stood by it. "I won't see you again before you leave. Good luck with your revolution." Then he went out, laughing.

Blake stared at the door as it closed. "Avon at my mercy?" he muttered. "The man's insane..." But he did think about it, for it would indeed have been nice if Avon had - just occasionally - been other than coldly sarcastic or infuriatingly critical. They could have been true, close friends, committed allies. Instead, it had been a brawl from start to...to now, with Avon obstructive, endlessly objectionable. Blake had felt hurt, time and time again, by Avon's sarcasm, and still felt hurt now. However, he'd soon find Liberator, and then he and Avon could settle their differences. Avon would be disappointed over Carnell, perhaps even grieve about it for a while, but he'd soon get over it. Things would get back to normal with Carnell out of the way, and eventually they'd be friends, as Blake had always known they should...must be friends, once Avon understood...

 

They dropped Blake on Cazadel and shortly afterwards left Grant and his crew. Then they started back to Skar.

 _Just a short time more,_  Carnell thought,  _and then I can ensure that Avon is safe; talk to him again._.. For Liberator might, by now, also be on its way to Skar.

They were skirting a part of the Federation's previous boundary. There was still the risk of finding hostiles but not too much. One could not relax yet, but...

"Sir!"

Tora's voice had a disquieting sound of urgency about it. Carnell sighed inwardly and went up to the flight deck.

"Several ships, Sir. Look at the screen: it's ominous."

"Yes, it is," Carnell agreed when he had looked. "But they aren't Andromedans. Whatever is...? Ah, hell!"

"You recognise them, Sir."

"Regrettably, yes, and I think they have recognised us. Tora, my friend, we have serious problems, because they will be out to kill me... Can we outrun them?"

"I doubt it," Tora replied. "After that last skirmish, our energy banks are not as good as I'd like. It'll be at least an hour before they are fully recharged, and if we run..."

 _And if we run, the energy banks will become even more depleted,_  Carnell thought,  _leaving us totally at their mercy._   **'It is always necessary to seek to turn a potential disaster into an undoubted advantage...'**  It was one of his own maxims, but how was he to use it now, when his glittering future, which had been within his grasp, could be destroyed in one brutal moment?  _No,_  Carnell raged inwardly, losing control just for a moment,  _not now...not when I have so much to do, so much to gain, success just waiting for me to reach out... Not now._

_Avon...think of me, remember me. Avon._


	4. ALL THAT WE DO

## PART V - ALL THAT WE DO

All that we do is done with an eye to something else.

Aristotle

 

### CHAPTER ONE

Servalan was shocked by Chesku's death, almost as much as by the ordeal she had suffered herself in her Palace, and when she discovered that Chesku's abominable nuisance of a wife had very likely murdered him as well as leading some inept revolutionary effort against her régime, her bitter rage erupted with the kind of savagery her staff always dreaded. "How was this allowed to happen?" she screamed. "A High Councillor murdered amidst top security precautions... Then I am nearly killed... Notorious terrorists get in without difficulty and threaten me and yet again I'm nearly killed..." Which was not entirely accurate, but she was in no mood for niceties. "And what were you all doing? Asleep, were you, while I was chained up by a few amateur rebels?" She was almost beside herself with fury.

Still, there was no point in court-martialling everyone. She slashed with her taloned hand at the face of the nearest of them. Several others were despatched to some form of rough justice and she demoted the rest, instigated a savage purge at Security headquarters, then censored the details and prayed Avon would keep his mouth shut: but then, he did not seem inclined to slanging her or anyone else. It was one of his greatest virtues, circumspection.

She smiled, thinking of him, but sadly, remembering how he had suffered when he realised the truth at last about Anna Grant: such a pity to squander one's love on a worthless woman. For a few moments, Servalan had thought they were working together against her, that Avon had discovered the truth about Anna Grant and had accepted it - but she had soon realised he had not the least idea what Anna really was. It had given Servalan no pleasure at all to tell him, in spite of her loathing of Chesku's wife; but she had been pleased when Avon killed the woman for it had seemed fitting, somehow.

Still, it hurt her bitterly to realise there would have been no trouble at all if Chesku had agreed to Sula's elimination even a day sooner. "Yes," he'd said to Servalan, only an hour before his death, "kill her. You are right, my dear...she is an obstacle we can well do without." And the next day, it would have been done.

"And how," Servalan bawled at those of her staff who were still allowed within earshot, "did you fail to notice what that bitch was about? Revolution!" She hit one of them again and felt faintly better for it. "Have my ship returned for a journey," she snarled. "I want to get away from this place - immediately."

 

"How long before I am Emperor?" Maryk asked one day.

"You've two choices," Carnell replied. "One is a bloody upheaval - quick, violent, disruptive - and the other is a calm political coup."

"I see. Which do you advise."

"The latter, of course. I see no point in leaving you with a major disaster area to rule."

They were walking in the sunshine beside the sea that bordered Maryk's personal estate. Carnell was still treated as a prisoner but more favoured than dangerous these days, and he carefully made no effort to present any kind of a threat to his guards. They were wary because Maryk was wary, but they were not offensive.

"It'll still take time, then," Maryk said. It was as he'd expected.

"Not too much time..." Carnell's eyes darkened. "I cannot stay here for ever, Maryk."

"Suppose I try to keep you 'for ever': what will your Institute do?"

"How can I say. You do not allow me to contact them."

"Do you blame me?" Maryk demanded. "We all know how devious you psychostrategists are. Even a few seemingly innocuous words could carry dangerous information! Is it not enough that you hear from them now and then? Even that's a risk, Carnell, and you know it. I can't always see what's behind those supposedly casual messages your friend Gort sends."

"It's never good to be restricted, but I admit you are a fair jailer," Carnell commented. "As for the messages, I have explained all of them to you. You have no need to be uneasy."

"Nonetheless, you want to leave - and it's not just because you need to return to your Institute..."

"It's hardly easy being Director in Absentia!" Carnell retorted. "I've had no chance to take over, have I?" Carnell's smile was back again, though less bright than usual, but his eyes were bitter.

"Your duties are there, of course, but the Federation is going along well enough and you say yourself your work here is critically important. I think someone is waiting for you, out in your Federation...a lover."

Carnell stopped walking and stared out at the sea. "This is a beautiful place - do you not think so?"

"Undoubtedly, or I wouldn't live here."

"When you are Emperor," Carnell said, "you will have many palaces."

"You are avoiding my question," Maryk said. "Carnell..."

"Did you ask one?" Carnell looked at Maryk, wide-eyed.

"You know I did. I am sorry your lover is missing you but it will not be for ever. I'll let you go, I promise, when you have given me back my inheritance... In fact, I'll allow you to contact your lover - once - if you wish, just a few words to say you are safe and well and will return not too long from now. Will that raise the cloud of sorrow that lays around your heart, Psychostrategist?"

"How perceptive you are, Maryk," Carnell commented drily.

"You're still being evasive. Are you afraid your woman has not waited for you...or is it a man? Somehow I suspect the latter, although I can't say why."

"I am tired of the sea," Carnell exclaimed suddenly and swung away, walking briskly up the beach.

Startled, Maryk hurried after him and seized his arm. "What is wrong? How have I offended you? It was only a simple question, Carnell, and a wish to cheer you. Love lives in all of us."

"Love!" Carnell flung into his apartment - his prison. "Oh yes, there's a lover and I long to be with him. But I can't tell him where I am - I dare not even tell him I am still alive or he would come here and that would wreck all our plans. He most likely thinks I am dead, Maryk. He's part of one of my grand strategies, you see, and at the moment I am forced to throw him at my rival - forced to throw him into her arms. But for you, I would have been with him...he would not have needed her. He may be with her now, loving her now. Do you think I find that amusing?" Angrily, Carnell paced across the room. "What I do for strategy!" he said savagely.

"I will not say I understand your motives," Maryk said, "but I would never willingly give any woman - or man - of mine to a rival." He grimaced, remembering his wife who had gone...willingly...to his rival. "What are you thinking of, to be so self-sacrificing?"

"Am I? Or am I being selfish, using him? I saw it as a strategy for our mutual benefit. I even calculated what should be done if I were to be missing or to die. I knew we both faced danger but I could not predict you would interfere just when you did."

"It was sheer chance of course," Maryk commented. "We weren't looking for you... And what of your strategy relating to this man - now that you are no longer there to direct it?"

"It will be modified by my deputy. He knows what is required and he will be helping my lover into my rival's arms, balancing my loss against the strategy's future success. It's not what I wanted, not at all, but it should achieve the end result with luck."

"Your principles drive you to this, then? Come, Carnell, be happy! Send him just one message - a visual message. We'll keep the origin secret and he can even send a reply. You can discover if he still loves you."

"The risk is too great," Carnell said. "He has an exceptional computer - Orac - and it will find you out no matter what you do. The strategy must continue as it is, or it may be destroyed completely."

"And you are to lose him to this woman? It's intolerable."

"I may not lose him. That's the uncertainty, and the risk. The strategy is complicated and the prize so much more than his love." He was calmer now, rational again. "Let me go when you can," he said. "That's all I ask."

"Is it? What of our treaty?"

"I thought that was agreed!"

"Now you are yourself again," Maryk commented approvingly. "Never fear - I expect your lover will be constant, or how could he be worthy of you? And what's one woman more or less, so long as she is soon forgotten? Take a woman for yourself, my friend: you'll feel better for it."

"Perhaps," Carnell replied noncommittally.

But Maryk saw still the frustration on Carnell's face and said impulsively, "The offer is still open. Call him. Why suffer for principle?"

"Why indeed?" Carnell replied. "But there's the difference between us, Maryk: that's why you need me to make you Emperor when you could have done it for yourself... Let me work. It makes me feel - happier. It brings the time of my leaving nearer."

"Very well, have it your own way. But will you tell me who this man is - one so clever as to have enslaved you?"

"Avon," Carnell said quietly, "Kerr Avon."

"Ah, the terrorist. We hear a great deal about him: a very interesting man. I commend your good taste."

Carnell laughed bitterly. "Then commend the President's good taste too. She lusts after him and I can't honestly blame her. I know only too well what she feels when she looks at him."

"So Servalan is your rival? A beautiful woman - but I would not trust her. Surely he'll be careful."

"That's the theory, but people can confound the best of stratagems."

"What do you fear most?" Maryk asked thoughtfully. "That he'll love her - or that she will kill him?"

Carnell smiled faintly. "You are learning, Maryk. I fear most that she will kill him. I assess she will not be able to bring herself to do so although she will often appear to try...but occasionally she's careless, as I already know to my cost. She may kill him by accident."

"Then you've good reason to fear... You're a hard man, Carnell. I wouldn't like to take that risk."

"It's the future I chose," Carnell said. "I shan't abandon it now, although I'll adapt the strategy to bring me close to him - as soon as you let me free."

"If I opt for the bloody revolution, you could leave almost immediately," Maryk suggested slyly.

"How I wish I could urge you to do that! Ah well, we do what we must." Which was the correct answer, and also reassured Maryk yet again, if he still needed it, that Carnell could be trusted...sufficiently, anyway.

"Let me find you a willing woman, a sophisticated courtesan," Maryk wheedled, "or even a respectable woman or a young girl, if that's what you prefer. There are many who desire you - you know it: many who would offer themselves with delight to our handsome, golden-haired prisoner. You had such a reputation once: no woman you desired was safe from you. Yet now you are trying to be a monk and it is not natural. If your man can please himself with Servalan, why can't you amuse yourself with Sorv's willing ladies? Or perhaps you would prefer a man?"

"No!" Carnell exclaimed. "Perhaps a woman," he added, trying to close the subject. "I'll think about it later."

"Think about it now!" Maryk retorted. "It is now that you need the woman..."

"Go away, Maryk," Carnell said, his voice suddenly severe and cold. "Get out of my sight. No women, no men, not now."

Maryk sighed. In spite of the fact that Carnell was his prisoner, Maryk knew better than to argue with him when his eyes were hard, his voice icy, and his smile totally missing. Shaking his head, Maryk went.

"I like the idea of you seducing the Emperor's current mistress," Maryk said some weeks later. "But you are taking a considerable risk. Could we not find another lover for her...one of my people?"

"No, I shall do it, and you will be pleased to see me courting a woman at last."

"But such a woman! She is so evil... And how could I trust you to behave yourself, away from your guards? They could hardly follow you into the bedchamber with her."

"You are holding my crew: aren't they hostages enough? My ship's destroyed...we have no means of escape."

"There are other ships and other crews."

"If I went now, I'd destroy my strategy and our alliance. Surely you know how much this means to me? Why should I deceive you?"

"You may have another strategy. How can I ever tell what you are thinking?"

Carnell held out his hands in mock-despair. "What am I to do? How do I convince you that I want this treaty with you enough that I'll take no stupid risk? I'm offering to risk my life for your bloodless revolution by pursuing this woman...but it's a calculated risk and I know what I want to achieve so it's best I take that risk."

Maryk stared at him. "I don't know what you can do except perhaps... You are asking me to trust you. Very well: prove that you can also trust me. Talk to me about that terrorist you pine for and the strategy which is so important that you can't even tell him you are still alive and aching for him. How can driving him to Servalan benefit your organisation?"

"Ah..." Carnell hesitated, then he spread his hands in a gesture of submission. It would not fool Maryk, who knew by now that Carnell would never submit completely to him, but it would imply that an impasse could not be allowed. "The objective is not Avon now," he said, "but Blake. I seek to use Blake in order to halt the destruction of the Federation's commercial base."

"Oh, the drugs, of course. You have spoken of their disadvantages before. I dislike the idea of pacification drugs...but a weak Federation might be an advantage for Sorv."

Carnell smiled at Maryk. "If you really thought that, you would not have said it!"

"True," Maryk agreed. "The Federation can be a nuisance, but our alliance should keep it out of Sorv..." Assuming the Federation's High Council would do what Carnell wanted. Maryk had little doubt, now, that it would...indeed, that when Carnell returned to Earth the High Council would not know what had hit it. He grinned, thinking of that.

"It is not just the pacification drugs," Carnell said, returning to the main subject. "There are many problems. I have assessed Blake and saw that he could never have recovered fully from the conditioning he'd originally been given. I realised this factor would cause him to lose control over his dream of revolution. I assessed his associate Avon and realised Avon was stronger than Blake, but disinclined to leading the Cause. I calculated that Blake was heading for disaster - a mental breakdown at best, or chaos at worst; yet he was the hope of all too many citizens frustrated by the Federation's failure to balance freedom properly with law and order. I decided Blake was too dangerous to leave loose. It is a tragedy for he was a fine leader once...but the conditioning truly is irreversible although he has never realised it. Avon knows that now because I have told him.

"Servalan ordered me - by chance - to kill Blake. She was too powerful to refuse directly, and there was the opportunity to remove Blake. Avon could have died too...but there was a chance he would not."

"You were not committed to him then?"

"No," Carnell said and was silent for a moment. Then he said, "The strategy failed, through Servalan's carelessness. I was not too concerned about that, since it meant Avon was safe."

"Suppose Avon had died...what then?"

"I'd have made another revolution, found another leader...never fear. But they both survived...

"Blake might or might not go to Earth after he'd found Central Control. It was obvious that Avon would want the Liberator. I calculated that Blake might disappear before reaching Earth so, to make sure, I followed him and seized him. Just to help the strategy along...

"Avon has a weakness. He is loyal - against his better judgement. It was predictable he'd try and escape Blake's Cause, but he was already too deep in. Servalan chases him, occasionally comes close to catching him..."

"Desires him," Maryk interjected, "so she lets him live."

"Yes. Mutual titillation is very effective...and it keeps him safe, so long as she remains in love with him. He is tempted to carry on the Cause because then he can meet her. Eventually he becomes accustomed to fighting her, to being the figurehead of the Cause. Once Liberator was the figurehead. I told Avon he would become more than Blake ever was...and now he is the figurehead: not Blake, not Liberator."

"So he fights until he can fight no more, when the strain of it is driving him over the edge just as it drove Blake?"

"Precisely. If I had been there, it would have been easier for him. As it is, he will need to find someone to help him escape. Who better than Blake, who will be ready - and anxious - to take over again? Imagine the relief for Avon, the conviction that at last he can be free of it all. He has held the fort, as it were, while Blake regains his sanity."

"But you said Blake could never recover."

"Blake may learned to be...cautious." Carnell replied non-committally.

"So Blake takes over again, and Avon has achieved spectacular successes to help him along. How will that help you?"

"No," Carnell said, "you do not yet understand. Blake will die a martyr's death. I shall use his death - amongst other factors - as a lever to obtain a change in Federation policy. I am the Director of one of the most powerful organisations in the galaxy and there's much I can do to enforce my will."

"I suppose you will prompt your lover to kill his erstwhile leader, is that it? See how clever I am becoming, following your thinking! But what will Avon think of that, Carnell?"

"He'll get what he wants - money, and the freedom to use it, a full pardon, the destruction - in a way and in due course - of the hierarchy Blake loathes; almost anything, in fact."

"But how?" Maryk demanded. "I still don't see how! And why should he allow you to force him to kill a friend?"

"It's so obvious," Carnell replied, smiling coldly. He had never seemed so haughty, to Maryk. "He will be a hero, a public benefactor." Carnell said grimly.

"Great heaven," Maryk breathed, admiring and appalled at once, thinking that he understood. "He'll never forgive you!"

"You already know," Carnell said, "that I do not only manipulate, I also assess and deduce. You still do not understand and this is why... This is what I believe will happen... Listen to the full extent of my strategy and you will see..."

"So now I do see," Maryk said at last. "It's chilling, Psychostrategist... Tell me, does your Organisation ever allow you to consider affection?"

"Yes, of course it does. Affection is a part of life. But Institute policy varies with the instruction of the Director."

"You are a despot, then?"

"Not at all. I - er - rule by consent; more or less, that is."

Maryk grimaced. "By persuasion! Gentle, is it?"

Carnell laughed. "I've told you what you asked. Now - am I to seduce Karian?"

"Yes, why not! It's in both our interests to be rid or the usurper and I suppose the woman will do you some good. Very well, I'll trust you...and you'll be careful, won't you, to keep yourself alive? As for now, let us forget policy and strategy and lovers and relax. I'll challenge you to a game of chess."

"Oh no," Carnell said irritably, "not chess. Of all things, not that."

Maryk groaned. "Now what have I done wrong?"

After the encounter with the Alien who tried to take Cally's form and enslave Liberator's crew, the ship drifted quietly far from Earth and far from the sad space where Auron had once been. Cally tried to take Avon's advice and forget the horror of her sister's death and her planet's destruction but the slaughter of her people was still too much of a shock to bear. "It's not just the wanton murder," she explained to Vila, "but the loss of their consciousness. To die alone, that'll be my fate, Vila."

Vila was sympathetic, as always. "You have us," he said. "You were hard on Avon - he didn't deserve it. You know he does care about all of us, in his way. And now he's grieving too. It's very sad."

Cally had told Vila what happened on Earth and he had been angry rather than shocked. "You see, I knew about Anna Grant," he said. "So did Carnell."

"Why didn't he tell Avon? Why leave him to discover...like that?" Cally was horrified.

"It's Carnell's way...was Carnell's way," Vila explained. "You can't do everything for other people. Sometimes it's better if they find things out for themselves."

"Tell me, Vila," Cally said next, "do you really think Carnell is dead."

"I suppose Avon does," Vila replied, "since Orac has deduced it. But I always remember what Carnell said - that Orac is only a machine. I like to think Carnell might reappear, one of these days."

Cally sighed. "Whether he returns or not, he'd never love me, would he?"

"There's no point in futile dreams," Vila replied prosaically. "You were not what he wanted, and Avon was. If Carnell returns, you'll never part them again. Find someone who really does want you, Cally."

"He thought I should come to you," Cally said, "but I could not accept it. You see, he was what I wanted, and still want, and I can't change that any more than he could, any more than Avon can."

"We are what we are," Vila said. "No-one can force us to change."

 

Although Avon was still bitter about Anna, he was also becoming angry. Analysis of his time on Earth with her showed him more and more the deceits she must have practised in order to catch and then keep him, to wheedle details of his plans out of him. How could she possibly have loved him, if she could so blithely betray him? He came, slowly, to despise her.

"Orac," he said one day, "I want you to find all the data you can get on Sula, deceased, wife of High Councillor Chesku, also deceased; on Chesku's relationship, if any, with Servalan...and any data you can discover which may relate Chesku or Sula to Psychostrategist Carnell."

The last was merely a whim. Anything about Carnell was important...anything at all.

"And next," Avon continued, "check again if there is anything yet about Carnell himself. Contact that Institute of his again - pester them."

+I have done so on frequent previous occasions,+ Orac replied forbiddingly. +There is no data.+

"Nevertheless, check. Do it, Orac!" He had believed Carnell dead - but then, he had believed Anna dead. If he had been wrong once, so he could have been wrong again. "And finally," he added thoughtfully, "conduct another search for Blake."

+I will need more data.+

"I know that and will provide what I can." He would compute as Carnell had instructed him, and he would find Blake somehow, if Blake was alive: this he had now decided. In all things, he could emulate Carnell's methods except in psychoanalysis, and there he knew he had neither the aptitude nor the training. But he knew Blake well, and at last understood something of Blake's dependence on him.

The came to Teal. It was supposed to be a holiday, and turned, Avon later thought gravely, into a wake. Poor Tarrant - how cruel to find his brother and yet never to get near him. Avon had lost touch with his own older brother when he was arrested on Earth, had no idea where he was, had never dared to try to contact him for fear of endangering his life...

Servalan was definitely cheating again, which was nothing unusual. He even found it amusing, this time...or it would have been, but for Tarrant's despair. And then Avon realised that, at last, he had Servalan at his mercy. She was here on an unaligned, neutral planet where she could not attack him. He could threaten, but he would not kill...and nor could she.

He sensed that she was pleased to see him in spite of his threats. It was the moment he had waited for, the moment he would seize, to come close to her and, through her, close to his lost love Carnell. It was convenient, it was appropriate, and it would be very, very good.

How lovely she was. "Madam President..."

"I see the Orac computer has broken our latest security code," she said petulantly. She was not sorry to see him though, not at all. She hoped he did not know what she was up to, but perhaps that was too much to ask; and sure enough, he told her. He didn't know it all, not yet, but enough that he could make a deal of trouble if he wished.

"Your plan had better be fireproof, Servalan," he told her, "or I'll see you burn with it..."

His threats always excited her. He was the most exciting man she had ever known, perhaps would ever know. She wanted him unbearably. Her eyes were wide with hunger.

He saw it. "You cheating bitch!" he told her softly as he drove her across the quiet room. "Carnell was so right about you. You are beautiful, but totally deadly."

"Carnell?" Servalan stiffened, tried to force Avon's hands off her shoulders. "What has that traitor to do with you?"

"Lovers all," Avon breathed. "Do you imagine I have only women, Servalan? Carnell has made love with you and he has made love with me. I am merely...completing the triangle. Won't that be delicious?"

"You and Carnell!" Servalan was almost choking with fury. "Get your hands off me, you...!"

"I am as delightful as Carnell...you acknowledge it time and time again with your eyes when we meet. Let's follow that interest to its logical conclusion, beautiful, desirable, evil woman. Let's make love - passionately violently, but...briefly. After all, we mustn't hold up the contest, mustn't interfere with your - er - violation." He smiled savagely, baring his teeth at her in a brutal, feral grin. "Think of Carnell," he said. "Think of Carnell when I take you, and I shall think of him also. He was...superlative, Servalan." For a moment, his voice faltered. Grimly, he repressed a desire to hit her. "Let's see how you can be, Servalan," he said, regaining control.

She tried to strike him and failed. He seized her wrists and drove her to the ground, forcing her to be still. "He warned me how dangerous you are. I thought to tie you down... There's no point in being knifed in the back, is there, Servalan?" He laughed harshly. She struggled but it was useless for he was far too strong and he knew that in spite of the fighting she wanted him desperately. Perhaps it was the fighting she needed? "How did Carnell take you?" he demanded. "Did he attack you, or pleasure you?"

"Didn't he tell you?" she countered viciously. "But he's dead, I hope, and if he is I'm glad of it. I'll make sure you're soon dead also, Avon, believe me!"

"I do believe you," he grinned, and then he took her. As she gasped beneath him and then became delightful and hungering for him, he lost himself in her and in the memories of Carnell that flooded over and through him. And then it was over and he sighed.

But he thought of something. "You said," he murmured against her throat, "that you only 'hoped' Carnell was dead. Tell me, what did you really mean? Do you suspect he's alive?"

Strangely, she wanted to take pity on him, just as she had before when he'd faced Anna Grant. She loved him in her way, just as she had loved Chesku. She had lost Chesku and she could understand Avon's sorrow if he did, as she now believed, love Carnell. "He may not be dead," she said quietly. "There are...factors which suggest that he is merely unavailable. Why don't you ask Orac to look into it?"

He stared at her for a moment and then drew away from her. "Perhaps I'll find time to be grateful to you," he said. "Why did you tell me?"

"Because we all love sometimes, and it hurts... Oh Avon, how it hurts!"

"Someone you lost also?"

"Anna's husband was my dearest friend, though all my life, and she killed him. Can you imagine how I felt?"

"Oh yes," he said, "I can imagine very well." He drew her to her feet and placed his arms around her. "There's love and love," he said quite gently, "and I feel a kind of love for you. It won't make me trust you nor stop you from trying to kill me if you feel so inclined...but think about it. I shall look again for Carnell and perhaps I'll find him. Perhaps you will find a new love to replace Chesku... Cally, I'm ready to come up now."

She was leaning against him, cheek against cheek, wishing he would never leave her; but then he was gone. She sighed, and then went back to her plotting and her wicked schemes to ruin the Teal/Vandor convention.

Trust Avon to interfere. Trust Avon to be the one to spot how she had intended to trick Teal and Vandor into a full-scale war. But it couldn't be helped. He was...so exceptional, just as Carnell had been exceptional. It occurred to her as she returned to her so-called duties, that they would have made a quite astonishingly brilliant triumvirate. She would not have much liked the idea of working on equal terms with anyone, but it was amusing to think about. After all, they were both so...beautiful.

### CHAPTER TWO

"...Friend to Friend, Code Innocent. Greetings. I hear that matters go well for you. Here I have a few problems but nothing that cannot be dealt with...one way or another. However, there are some dramas. Firstly a possible change in the hierarchy, for our lady-friend is said to be missing; and secondly, though I hesitate to say it, our mutual friend may be also... **"**

 ****"What is this?" Carnell demanded angrily of Maryk. "You promised me all Federation data. What has happened to Avon and Servalan?"

"I know no more than you," Maryk retorted. "This message has thrown my Intelligence people into a ferment, I can tell you...and why am I here now if not to tell you what we have since discovered?"

"Then say it, for heaven's sake!"

"There is a rumour," Maryk explained, "that Servalan has disappeared. The rumour is being suppressed just as most interesting information is suppressed in your unpleasant Federation, so we have not been deceiving you, my friend: it has just taken us time to discover even this much."

Carnell flung aside the stylus he had been using and got restlessly to his feet. "Disappeared?" he said. "It does not necessarily mean she is dead...but she would never relinquish the Presidency willingly, not Servalan."

"Not even for a strategy?"

"Definitely not!" Carnell grimaced briefly. "She's hankered after that Presidency for so long - the outward show as much as the political power. She'd hang on to it no matter what. Listen, Maryk, I have to know what is really going on - it's vitally important."

"You did not expect her to disappear, no doubt?"

"Anything's possible, and her obsession with chasing Avon cannot have endeared her to High Council."

"You believed she might disappear!"

"It does not matter whether she holds the Presidency or not," Carnell said. "What does matter is that she stays alive - and pursuing Avon."  _If Avon is still alive? What has happened to Avon?_  "And the other matter?" he continued urgently.

"No-one knows. It is simply that Liberator has not been seen for some time."

There was no real reason to suppose Avon was dead...unless there had been some disastrous confrontation with Servalan which had killed them all.  _So I can but wait,_  Carnell thought anxiously. "Let me go to Skar, just for a few days," he said. "I swear I'll return."

Maryk considered. "I can't let you go, not now when we are so close to victory in Sygarr. But I'll send one of my people to Skar."

"That will do." It would have to do, Carnell supposed grimly.

"And now," Maryk continued, "let us discuss your success with the Emperor's woman. You do appear to have her eating out of your hand."

"And not only that," Carnell said with a grin, recovering his good temper a little. It had not been difficult, persuading Karian, no more than seducing any other high-born, pretty woman. He liked her well enough, and, as Maryk had expected, the physical relationship had done him good even if he had not much cared about it at first. "She is attractive in a savage kind of way, in spite of her fancy for Harran," he said, "and intelligent...and better, she has talked to me of your wife. I think, my friend, that you will feel happier when I tell you what she said."

It might not be easy for Maryk to accept, at first, that his wife was no whore, nor even an unwilling bedmate for the Emperor, but he'd come to believe it in time. The poor woman had been only a captive: damaged somewhat, no doubt, from the long imprisonment and the continual misery, but still faithful to her suspicious husband. "Believe it or not as you wish," Carnell said. "I've better things to do than to argue the matter with you. When the damned usurper is out of the way, you can ask her - and Karian - for yourself."

"The usurper intends to have her killed: I told you that," Maryk said grimly. Could he believe what Karian had reportedly said? He simply did not know. It was so long now since his wife had gone away and he was used to believing ill of her.

"Then we must ensure he does not."

The strategy was progressing well enough. The days, always dragging for Carnell no matter what the excitements, were now interminable. He thought more and more of Avon and could hardly bear the waiting. And it would be typical of fate, wouldn't it, if Avon were to have died just before Carnell could, at long last, get back to him? Carnell felt physically sick at the thought of it.

The weeks went by and still nothing was heard of Liberator or Servalan. With fear in his heart, Carnell plagued Maryk for information and eventually refused to work until an answer, one way or another, had been found. It was a sure way, he'd discovered, to get what he wanted from Maryk, and he played it for all he was worth.

"I thought," Maryk raged at him, "that our alliance was to be more important than your lover. What are you thinking of, defying me?"

"You'll have to understand," Carnell retorted, "that I'm not made of stone...much as I often pretend I am. Let me speak to Gort."

"No!"

"Then let me speak to your man on Skar."

Maryk considered. What harm could it do? Whatever Carnell said would be monitored, after all."

"Very well," he said at length, "but a recorded message only. I don't want you passing any unauthorised information."

"Ah, for heaven's sake!" But it was a victory. Whether Maryk liked it or not, messages would be passed. Even in his fear, Carnell did not forget to think, and the opportunity must be put to advantage. It was the first time he had been allowed any contact with anyone outside Sorv, and it must not be wasted.

 **"...Friend to Friend, Code Innocent.**  I believe you will know, without my explaining, what it is that concerns me. You must have data by now on the lady...and the other mystery must be resolved at all costs. Tell me what you can, for our work here is faltering. **"**

 ****It was a cry from the heart and Gort would know it. Faced with an ultimatum from the Director, now his superior, Gort would spare no effort to find Avon somehow...or learn the full circumstances of his death. Content for the moment that something would be happening, Carnell returned to his strategies and the directing of the bloodless revolution.

"Orac," Avon said one day, long after the disaster of Terminal and the sorry business on Xenon with the crazed genius Dorian, "what have you to report regarding Blake?"

+Not a great deal as yet,+ Orac replied, +but I am following the strategy you have delineated and there is some progress. I am beginning to see a possible route that Blake could have taken.+

"Specify."

+It is known that he was at one time safe. He had landed his capsule on Morphanial and you could have picked him up. However, he disappeared. You checked the planet and there was no sign of him, yet his capsule was still intact. It is reasonable to assume he could have been rescued by someone else.+

"Someone he knew?"

+That seems likely.+

"Very well. Can you calculate where he went next?"

+That I am still considering. I can give you part of the possible trail...+

"Do that," Avon instructed and then followed through what Orac had proposed, on the charts. "Interesting," he remarked at length. "It seems to show a definite pattern of intent."

+There is something you have forgotten,+ Orac said, unusually helpful for once; or perhaps just keen to disorientate...which was far more likely.

Avon grimaced. "Well?"

+Carnell. Regular reports were passed by myself to Carnell...until I was no longer able to contact his ship. Carnell will have known where Blake was.+

Suddenly Avon smiled very brightly. "And Carnell had predicted that Blake might disappear."

+It is typical of Carnell's methods,+ Orac continued, +that he would assist a prophesy to come true.+

"Yes," Avon said, "it is precisely what Carnell might do."  _And why did I not think of this before,_  Avon asked himself. "So Carnell had his own reasons for separating us," Avon mused aloud. "Consider, Orac, the hypothesis that it was necessary to remove Blake from Liberator...and from me. Let me have your deductions later. Now, on the subject of Carnell himself..?"

+I do not yet have a definite deduction,+ Orac responded, "but I have a new possibility. Again I see a pattern which leads to an interesting hypothesis.+

"State the hypothesis and give your sources."

+The hypothesis...following on the comment made to you by Servalan...has already been posed, that Carnell is not dead but unable - or unwilling - to reveal his whereabouts. I have discovered that there is a planet not too far from Skar, definitely connected, I deduce, to the Institute for Psychostrategic Studies, from whence messages have been sent, on occasion, to the alien Empire Sorv. The messages themselves I cannot read since the computers of the Institute and of Sorv are not based on the tarial cell.+

This would mean that Orac could not read the messages directly, but it could view them as they stood...and attempt to analyse their form. Avon fought to control a burning excitement. "Continue," he said.

+One has to make an arbitrary assessment,+ Orac said. +Applying the hypothesis that these messages are directed to Carnell, I deduced that Carnell could be in Sorv directing the war which we know is taking place with Sygarr. I have also discovered that Carnell worked once for Sygarr. Is it not conceivable that he was captured by Sorv and forced...or persuaded...to reverse what he had done before? Finally...+

"Yes?"

+There have been just three messages in the other direction: one around the time Carnell disappeared, one when Servalan disappeared and Liberator was destroyed...and one not long before Scorpio became known to the Federation as your new ship. If we follow the hypothesis, we may deduce that Carnell's capture was advised, and later that Carnell was driven, through by anxiety over yourself, to ensure - somehow - that he could send messages to his Institute.+

It was so beguiling...yet Orac could be conjecturing only because Avon's hypothesis was due to wishful thinking? It would not do to forget that.

"Check again," Avon instructed. "Consider that the whole basis of this hypothesis could be mistaken and view those messages from every other possible point of view. Check and report with all urgency." Then, no longer trusting himself to be able to continue speaking, he went to his cabin and sat in the chair at his desk. He pressed his shaking hands together, remembering with poignant longing how Carnell had held them.  _I must not allow myself to hope,_  he told himself.  _I must not believe that he is alive until Orac is certain. I must not believe until I know that there will be no possible chance of error...or I could not bear it._

But he could not forget the hope. What, he had so often asked himself since that day on Teal, could Carnell be doing that denied him freedom, that would prevent him from contacting Avon if no-one else, that allowed him to leave Avon imagining him dead? The connection between Sygarr, Sorv and Carnell was so obvious now...too obvious. Was it trickery? Was it chance that Sorv and Sygarr were now at war? Could Carnell really be trusted or was he using Avon only as part of some ruthless, convoluted strategy, using even love to enslave and cheat? Was it possible that Carnell did not even care, did not even think with more than dispassionate calm of Avon's bitter loss?

Was it possible, Avon asked himself, that Carnell was no different, no more sincere, than Anna Grant had been?

He had played Carnell's last message through, over and over, trying to read into it any hint of what might happened since. Now he played it again. But he found nothing different in it, nothing to give him hope...yet nothing to hint of trickery. And still there were the last words, which lived with him always: **Think of me, remember me, and know that whatever I do it is for love of you, always...**

 _No,_  Avon thought, smiling wanly at the image on the screen, _it's no trickery._  Calmer now, he waited for Orac to calculate and consider and pronounce.

"So what do you advise?" Avon asked when Orac later confirmed that it still considered Carnell was somewhere in the Sorv Empire.

+I suggest you contact Carnell's Aide on Skar and tell her what I have conjectured. She may then be willing to comment.+

"And if she does not?"

+Find High Councillor Gort and ask him.+

Avon smiled thinly. "A little gentle persuasion?"

+A little blackmail,+ Orac responded bluntly.

Avon laughed sardonically. "Carnell would surely approve of that. Very well, send a nice message to Jayelle, as follows..."

 "Clever," Gort said, "very clever, this terrorist Carnell so fancies, but then we should expect that of such a man, shouldn't we, especially when aided by a machine such as Orac? Now we have to ask ourselves whether Carnell expected Avon to find him eventually or whether we are still to tell Avon that Carnell is missing."

Jayelle did not respond. She knew an answer was not expected. Gort was merely thinking aloud and did not require her comment. So she waited, respectfully.

"Servalan is off looking for Avon again," Gort continued thoughtfully, "or perhaps I should call her Sleer - such a tedious subterfuge! We may conjecture that she is in love with the terrorist in her chilling way, and Carnell did suggest in his strategy that Avon could find himself in love with her...one way or another."

This time Jayelle did answer. "She's so dangerous..."

"Not necessarily. The strategy does insist that Avon must be motivated to continue the Blake Cause."

"He was duped by the agent Bartolemew."

"And suffered a bitter lesson. He will have learned from that."

They had discovered a good deal about the terrorist's activities during that incident: the obdurate prisoner who suddenly 'disappeared' into thin air with the torturer Shrinker; the extraordinary efforts of Chesku's wife to raise a revolution the aim of which seemed mainly to remove Servalan without killing her. "Careless," Gort had remarked cynically, for it was very dangerous to leave the last incumbent available to claw a way back to power. Then the death of Sula, which Servalan had never explained to anyone so far as Gort could ascertain although Federation records and Institute records hinted at reasons if you cared to look. "Avon will be more careful this time," Gort said now. "And Servalan is very different to Anna Grant... Very well, advise me if Avon contacts you again. Refer him to me - wherever I am - immediately."

"Even at the Institute itself, Sir?"

"Even there. Don't forget - Orac knows almost everything. It will find me."

They sent a non-committal reply to Avon, stating that his enquiry would be dealt with elsewhere, and Gort had no doubt that Avon would pursue the issue no matter what answer he received. So it was clear he had some evidence to go on, more than just casual guesswork and wishful thinking. Was it possible Orac had managed to read the messages between Skar and Sorv? Gort doubted it...but Orac could have detected their existence, and finally seen a pattern. After all, any psychostrategist, seeing such messages, would have seen a pattern and in time would have discovered something at least of the purpose. It was to be assumed Avon would remember Carnell's teaching...and so Carnell might well expect Avon to trace him, eventually.

It would not matter now if Avon knew the truth, Gort decided. The strategy in Sorv was so near to completion. Sygarr was almost ready to sue for peace, and then Carnell would instigate the final stage of the coup to give Maryk his inheritance. Virtually nothing could go wrong, now. Avon could be told much of the strategy, and would surely be convinced by Carnell's enduring silence that he should keep away just for a little longer. No doubt Skar would hear again from the terrorist very soon.

There was a faint sound behind him, as though someone had moved. He swung round in his seat, and only his long training in self-control saved him from a gasp of astonishment.

"Get up."

"How interesting," Gort remarked suavely. "The teleport, no doubt?"

"Move. Away from the console." Avon waved his clip-gun towards the middle of the room. "Out there, where you can't touch anything...destructive."

Gort smiled slightly. "Whatever you say. I appear to be at your mercy...but don't kill me before I talk, will you?"

"You may talk...when you've moved."

Obediently, Gort moved to the middle of the room and waited.

"Very well," Avon said coldly. "Talk now."

"Threats were ever a good way to get what you want," Gort murmured. "Yes, Carnell is alive, and well...and grieving after you. I'm sure you want to know that."

Avon's face relaxed - slightly, but perceptibly.  _Yes,_  Gort decided,  _the man still loves, and not Servalan._

"So why have you deceived me?" Avon asked grimly. "So many months, so many..."

"So many lies? Strategy, I'm afraid: you'll know a good deal about that from our mutual friend. This time the strategy is very - very - important. Carnell is dealing in wars and Empires and the future of the Federation and even Blake's worthy Cause pales a little beside all that."

"So you have ordered him to avoid me, is that it?" Avon waved the gun again, viciously. "Well?" he snarled.

"It is not at all a case of what I have decided. I no longer give the orders, or hasn't your clever Orac discovered that yet? No, I suppose it has not since we have not publicised the matter with Carnell incarcerated so inconveniently..."

"What do you mean, incarcerated?" Avon picked immediately on the most important comment. "Don't you realise that I...?"

"That is exactly what we have all had to realise, Avon: that you would immediately have set off, hot-foot, to rescue him. But he doesn't want to be rescued, or at least, not other than for the pleasure of seeing you again."

Avon frowned. So it was as Orac had suggested, that Carnell was not free yet not entirely a prisoner. Wherever he was, presumably in Sorv, he was there for a purpose - no matter what his personal wishes. "If you don't give the orders," Avon said at last, "who does?"

"Why, Carnell, of course. Who else?"

So that was it, and strangely, Avon had not suspected it, not at all. "You are no longer Director?"

"I have retired...but it does not do to have a Director we can't talk to so I carry on as though I had not. And you may be grateful Carnell is in charge, for if he were not I might well have sought to have you killed long before now."

"Do you expect me to thank you for sparing me?" Avon enquired sarcastically.

"No indeed. You may give your thanks to Carnell when you see him again, as you soon will if everything goes to plan. Carnell decided, in his wisdom, to develop a strategy relating to you and to Blake. It is an excellent strategy, a masterpiece... We do not wait on orders, you see. We are not an autocracy, no matter what you may think, although major strategy must always be under Institute control so that there are no confusions. Carnell knew he had been chosen to succeed me some day and he was preparing for his own brilliant future as Director. He formulated the strategy, put it to work. He told me much of it, as a precaution since he saw in the near future great danger for himself and for you...as has come to pass. But I still do not know all the strategy."

"Because," Avon remarked, "if you did, you might - however inadvertently - change it."

"You have learned well." The terrorist was relaxing, Gort saw. They could now talk sensibly together.

"So," Avon continued, "what is this strategy? How am I being manipulated?" He had thought out some of it, but not enough. He simply could not see the trend.

"You already know you are carrying on Blake's Cause in spite of your objections to it. We can both agree it is necessary for you to do this - necessary for your future freedom as well as for the good of the Federation."

"I can't say," Avon commented, "that I am very interested in the good of the Federation. I don't share Blake's passion for humanity."

"Ah...nor do I, as it happens. Does that surprise you?"

"I don't know. Perhaps not." But he had been surprised. He had not expected such cynicism.

"We work for the future," Gort said. "It is our purpose - our total strategy. If pacification were necessary for the future good, then we would support it. If wholesale slaughter were necessary, then we would support that...but wholesale slaughter is never likely to be necessary, I assure you."

Avon shrugged. "Don't apologise to me." Gort was, he saw, just like Carnell - logical, far seeing, eminently sensible. "So you do not support pacification?" he queried.

"It works against enterprise, and enterprise is necessary to produce a healthy society. The Federation seems bent on stifling enterprise. I have worked towards more individual freedom for its citizens for this reason, but against overwhelming odds for far too long. Carnell sees a way to break the mould - not dramatically, not totally, just a little crack...and you know where cracks can lead."

"To eventual disintegration?" Avon suggested.

"Not total, one hopes, but certainly some major breakages - in time. Carnell's vision was masterly, and I decided it should receive its due credit - which meant that he should have total control. I was ready enough to retire, so he is Director now and will be High Councillor as soon as we can get him to the Institute for the Investiture and then to Earth for election."

Avon grinned. "I assume 'election' is a euphemism for an enforced co-option!"

"Naturally. Our control of High Council is considerable."

"And suppose Servalan were in charge again? You must know she is still alive?"

"We discovered her eventually, hiding under her ridiculous pseudonym. She'd be no great problem for she's only too well aware of our power. It was one thing for her to cheek Carnell when he was merely one of my people, but quite another to defy the Director in High Council. And furthermore, she likes Carnell and Carnell's very good...very good indeed...at getting round women. They'd get along very well."

"Would they indeed?" Avon muttered. "Well...and what of Carnell himself? I assume he is in the Empire of Sorv. Convince me I should leave him in his prison."

"Very well," Gort said quietly. "I will tell you as much as I can without wrecking the strategy for Sorv."

Gort talked, and Avon listened attentively, occasionally commenting but for the most part silent; content to hear what appeared to be more or less the truth. And he began to see at last the reasoning and the prize to be won. Gort believed it would be won and so Carnell would also. Avon saw the logic of it and much of his bitter hurt at what had seemed a savage personal slight melted away. "I see the purpose," he said at length when Gort had ceased speaking, "and I'll stay away from Carnell...avoid interfering...on one condition."

There was bound to be a condition, Gort supposed, since the terrorist had been deprived of his friend for so long, but the condition might be impossible to meet. "You want him to contact you?"

"It will be quite safe. The Federation cannot access Orac nor trace its communications, and Carnell knows the method. Ask him to tell me, himself, to leave him alone...and I will."

"That could be difficult. I can't promise..."

"You'll promise," Avon said, "or I'll go to High Council and tell them Carnell is working with Sorv for your Institute and against the Federation... I don't think High Council will like that."

Indeed they would not. But Carnell was not allowed to contact anyone else in the Federation...not anyone at all. Then Gort had an inspiration. "I will show you what the problem is," he said. "I will put you in touch with Carnell's jailer and you will talk to him yourself. I think we may be able to satisfy your condition after all."

"You mean he's High Councillor Gort - Carnell's boss?" Vila looked at Gort respectfully. "What's he doing here?"

Vila had just come on to the flight deck after his sleep period and found the others standing watching Avon and Gort. "He's come up from Skar," Soolin said. "Apparently he needs to use Orac in order to contact some friend of Avon's. Who's Carnell?"

Vila supposed no-one had ever mentioned Carnell to Soolin. It was, after all, so long since they'd seen him; and come to think of it, only he and Avon of the present crew knew Carnell anyway...had known Carnell...or was it possible...? "Have they found Carnell?" he demanded excitedly.

"No idea. Is he lost? Orac's trying to get through to some alien called Maryk."

The contact was taking time. It appeared Maryk was not immediately available, and had to be found. Time passed, slowly.

"They could be in the capital," Gort said. "If that's the case, we may not be able to talk to Maryk for days because there's much fighting there. It's one thing to pass messages to his staff, which is all I am usually able to do, and quite another to find the man himself. By now they could well have taken the capital - it's so hard to know exactly what's happening."

"You don't have regular reports?" Avon queried.

"Regular, yes, but not frequent. Maryk's a cautious man. Then again...Carnell could be in the capital alone. He has a vital contact there." Gort supposed it would not be tactful to tell Avon exactly what Carnell might be up to with the 'contact'. "It's all very tedious," he said, "but, unfortunately, necessary."

More time went by and then at last Orac had a response. There was an acknowledgement, a statement that Maryk was on his way to a view-terminal, and then Scorpio's screen flashed into life.

"High Councillor Gort." It was the Prince Mynarka. "This is all very dramatic. What do you want of me?"

"Specifically," Gort said pleasantly, "we want our friend Carnell - if you will allow it, Maryk."

"Now you know that's not allowed. Why do you ask?"

"Beside me," Gort said, still genially, "you will see a gentleman of threatening feature and desperate reputation. This gentleman wishes to speak to our friend Carnell...and if he is not allowed to speak to Carnell, I am afraid he is going to put the proverbial cat amongst the proverbial pigeons. That is why I ask this favour."

Avon moved into view and Maryk looked at him thoughtfully. "I know you: you're that terrorist Carnell so admires. So you've found him - is that it? He told me you might, eventually... What pigeons?"

"High Council," Gort said succinctly. "In other words, my friend, blackmail and sundry similar threats. Do we want High Council to know what we are up to?"

"High Council's your problem, not mine."

Avon frowned. "High Council will be your problem with a vengeance if I go to them, Maryk! I'll see to it that they make a very special case out of you."

"Threats do not move me, human," Maryk retorted. "However...love might. Wait."

The screen blanked. "Whatever did that mean?" Tarrant enquired curiously.

"Never you mind," Vila said darkly. "Don't interfere."

+The connection is resumed,+ Orac intoned a little later. +Avon...I shall have Carnell for you.+

Avon found that he could not quite control his breathing, and he was shaking slightly again as he always seemed to shake whenever some emotional trauma connected with Carnell assailed him. The screen returned to Maryk's palace, but it was not Carnell.

"A moment's delay," Maryk said coolly. "He's here, Avon, I promise, and coming with a heart full of love and delight. He's been a little - er - busy, that's all."

He'd actually been with Karian. It was typical, Carnell thought ruefully, that when he did finally, at last, marvellously, have the chance to see and speak to Avon again, it would have to be during a strategic - not entirely strategic - encounter with Karian. He'd immediately abandoned her, left her fuming with annoyance and laced with only vague promises, and slammed his way out of the place. Only Avon mattered now.

It was fortunate, if nothing else, that Karian was here at Maryk's palace on a clandestine visit and he could get to see Avon quickly. He burst into Maryk's private rooms, hurried through the antechambers, and at last reached the viewterminal area.

"There now, didn't I say he wouldn't be long?" Maryk was grinning slyly at Carnell. "Come, Carnell, and be happy at last. Would you believe, Avon, he's never been happy, not once, since he came here. Now you can make the sun shine out of those lovely blue eyes of his again."

Avon scowled at the unwanted familiarity, well aware of the startled curiosity emanating from Tarrant, Dayna and Soolin behind him. Then Carnell appeared and he forget everything else but delight. It was true: Carnell was alive. He was there and he was smiling - didn't he always smile? How warm was his smile, how tender. Nothing had changed between them.

"Avon," Carnell said, gazing at him. "Avon..."

For a moment, Avon hardly knew how to answer. Then he gathered his senses and forced himself to speak normally. "It's been such a long time," he said rather awkwardly.

"Yes, too long. I had no choice - they'll have told you that." No choice - because of strategy. One day he would tell Avon that there had been a choice, but the choice could have killed them both. Better to suffer for a while, and survive.

There was to be no privacy, Maryk had made that clear; a noncommittal conversation only, and no references to Federation strategy or politics. There was so much Avon wanted to say, so much to ask and discuss: so much that was personal and intimate and could not be said in front of onlookers. Gort and Maryk would understand - he might be able to endure their presence; even Vila, for he knew...and was discreet. But not the others, staring at him, intensely curious. How could he talk before them? "How long," he asked carefully, "will it be before you return to Skar?"

"When Maryk lets me go." Carnell's eyes were warm with love. If he could not speak of it, at least he could express it. "We are so close to victory. The Emperor is on the run - at last. But we are trying to avoid a bloodbath, so it requires a great deal of diplomacy."

"That should please you," Avon responded, smiling faintly. "I recall you don't approve much of bloodshed."

"It's a waste," Carnell replied. "I detest waste. Death is too often a useless sacrifice."

There was a moment's silence as they still stared at one another. For perhaps the first time in his life, Carnell suddenly could not think of anything to say...at least, not anything that could be said before Avon's avidly intrigued friends, all of whom he could see openly gawping (as he put it) at him. How he would have liked to make some mischievously provocative remark, just to startle them; but Avon would not stand for it. Even so, he would not allow Avon to go before he had made some kind of declaration. "There's so much I could tell you which I am not allowed to say, so much I need to say which cannot be said now. Avon..."

"I know," Avon said. If only they could reach one another, touch one another...but how much better this was than the separation which had seemed to point only to death, and that useless longing which could never be satisfied. Sometime, perhaps soon, they would be together, and there must be no more partings." "Make them tell you how long," he exclaimed, suddenly angry at the dark Prince who stood behind Carnell, just in his sight. "They can't need you for ever. Don't they know how to fight?" Carnell should have smiled at that, Avon thought, but he did not. So, Avon mused, is that the problem? If so, Carnell could be there for ever...it did not bear thinking of. He wondered how much more he dared say. "Is that it?" he demanded. "They can't fight without you. The Prince needs a wet-nurse?" His voice was coldly sarcastic.

"You..." Maryk's face was suffused with rage and he started forward. "This was to be a lovers' meeting, terrorist, not a slanging match directed at me. Do you imagine I'll allow you another chance to insult me?" He turned on Carnell and seized his arm. "That's enough. No more cosy chats for you."

"Then no more strategy!" Carnell's savage response startled everyone, especially the angry prince. "Forget your Empire, forget your victory, forget those many planets of Sygarr which we have already taken and the rest to come... I'll give them all back to Sygarr."

"You'll die first!"

Then at last Carnell did laugh, and he wrenched his arm from Maryk's grasp. "Avon's right, and you know it. You need me to push you all the time. Without me you'd still be bowing and scraping to your mad, usurping Emperor, fretting about your poor, innocent wife, too inept even to try and save her, blaming her...because it's easier than fighting for her. Do you imagine I don't see into your soul, Maryk? Do you imagine I enjoy fighting for you? Yes, I want this alliance, and I'll work for it - but I'm leaving Sorv just as soon as I can, just as soon as the strategy allows...and you aren't going to hold me."

"I'll kill you..."

"But you won't, not now. How will you ever rule without me behind you? Think about it, Maryk. How will you ever cope?"

There was a long, long silence, and then finally Maryk answered. "I don't like," he said, "to be...berated before your friends, Carnell."

"Stop trying to cage me," Carnell said more gently. "It will be better for you if I leave here soon. Sometime you must learn to stand on your own two feet."

Maryk looked at him and then he looked at Avon. "You can see," he remarked gloomily, "that Carnell was right to keep you away from Sorv. You have only been speaking to him for a few minutes and here we are already at loggerheads."

"You've angered me," Avon responded coldly, "and you are holding someone I - value. What do you expect?"

Maryk sighed and thought a moment and then moved away again. "I'll clear the room," he said, "leave Carnell alone with you. Tell your friends to go away. Then you can talk as you really want - in peace. Will that please you, Avon?"

"Yes," Avon said, resigned to the fact that all his companions must now be all too well aware of the implications and no longer much caring what they thought. "Yes," it will please me. It's best if we understand one another, Maryk."

"We do," Mary replied. "I'll let him go, very soon, and you will leave us in peace until then. It seems the best solution for all of us, doesn't it?" And then he walked away.

Avon swung round on his companions. "Let's all go to the Mess for a drink," Vila suggested hastily before Avon could speak.

There was an embarrassed mutter of assent from everyone except Gort who thanked Vila politely for the offer, and then they all trailed off the flight deck. Soolin alone glanced back, staring at Avon and then at the image on the screen.

And then at last they were alone. Carnell's expression, which had been grim, suddenly softened and then he started to laugh.

"You don't mind?" Avon queried. "He was very annoyed."

"No, I don't mind at all." Carnell calmed down a little. "He needed a shock - it'll do him good. I've tried for a long time now to hint that he's coming to rely too much on me, but he doesn't listen."

"Perhaps you've chosen the wrong ally?"

"I didn't exactly choose...but he'll do very well when he's used to being a ruler rather than a distrusted vassal. All his life, near enough, he's been held down, but he's learning fast. Now - tell me what's wrong. You look so strained, my love."

"Do I? So do you, as it happens: even I can see that."

"I am stressed - I don't like being here. The strategy's quite interesting but not excessively challenging, just long-drawn-out, which is trying. Come, talk of yourself - to please me. What did you do to your marvellous Liberator? What happened to Cally? Have you made love to Servalan yet...or found Anna's killer? Tell me!"

So Avon talked and Carnell listened, commented occasionally, and smiled a great deal.

"...I could not believe that Liberator was gone, and through my own fault. You were right when you told me it might not bring me wealth and power. And Cally dead, so uselessly."

"Poor Cally. Poor Vila too. They could have comforted one another. He might have won her if I had not come to Liberator."

"So might I," Avon murmured. "What an interference you have been in our lives."

"Should I bow out gracefully? I hope that's not what you are suggesting!"

"Hardly... Anna was nothing but a cheat. Why didn't you tell me what you'd discovered?"

"I was not entirely sure - the records were so confused. Imagine, Avon, what it would have done to you if I'd been wrong. You had to discover it and assess for yourself. How strange it is that you never came across Chesku's wife."

"I wonder if Anna ever cared what I gave, how I loved her," Avon said. "She is nothing to me now. She was not even real."

"You may be sure," Carnell said gently, "that I am real. I will never deceive you, Avon."

"You weave strategies round me. How do I know what you are really doing, Carnell?"

"But you are learning to understand, discovering my - tricks. Think what we can do together with our complementary talents!"

"...Servalan? What you'd call catharsis, I suppose. I thought of you all the time. Being with her was coming close to you. I don't regret it - how could I when for a few moments I found you again?"

"She is a beautiful woman," Carnell said. "I still think she is the sexiest officer I have ever known."

"What about me?"

"You're not an officer, are you? Well then..."

The time passed and still they talked on. There was so much to say, so many lost months to make up, so much pain to seek to obliterate. "I think you've galvanised Maryk into trusting me at last, or he'd have interrupted us long since," Carnell said. "He needs reassurance. Perhaps your threats are the answer!"

"Since talking is all we can do, then we talk," Avon said. "I'm not letting you go until I have to. Tell me about your strategy."

"No!" Carnell said. "I'm sick of Sorv. Tell me about Blake?"

"Blake? I should think you'd know more about Blake than I do."

"Would I? Why should you think that?"

"You found him on Morphanial, Carnell. Don't pretend you didn't because Orac has deduced it and I'm convinced Orac is right. What did you do with him?"

"Your helpful friend Del Grant took him to a miserable hole of a planet called Gauda Prime. Have you deduced that too?"

"Orac has followed the trail to Gauda Prime and ascertained that he's building up a rebel army there. What do you expect me to do about him?"

"Whatever you like," Carnell replied with his blandest smile. "He's your - er - friend, not mine."

"Is he indeed? It's not the kind of friendship I welcome."

"Let's face it...it's the kind of friendship we have too."

"Ah..." Avon sighed. "I'll make just the one exception. But Blake's emotions were unwelcome. I don't want to see him again."

"So be it."

"But what does your strategy demand?" Avon asked. "You've left Blake on some God-forsaken border planet and you expect me to accept that you are now going to forget him. I don't believe you!"

"Remember strategy: it adapts to circumstances. Even the final goal can be modified, or changed completely. I see a trend, and I see dangers which face us...but there's so much I cannot see. Chance cannot be assessed accurately. Blake has been manipulated to a degree, but the end result may not be what I originally envisaged... Tell me about your own strategies, Avon."

"There's a confederacy I have in mind," Avon said. "Warlords: Halsa, Boorva, Lod, Mida, Zukan. Do you know them?"

"Zukan's a land-greedy pirate who preys on anything within reach. You'll have to con the others into accepting him and it won't be easy. I've never dealt with any of them. Instruct Gort to advise you, on my authorisation. And note that Zukan has a very pretty daughter he's said to dote on. Remember that: you may find it useful."

"Unless it's too risky, I shall go ahead with it," Avon said. I've had enough of Causes... I'm not sure it will work, but I have to do something. You say I'm strained: so I am. I try to relax but it's near-impossible with Servalan chasing me relentlessly. I no longer seem to be able to cope with her. I spend all my time running away from her traps. She never lets up and we are lucky to escape with our lives. I'm losing my grip, Carnell. I have to be free of Blake's Cause soon."

"Yes," Carnell commented gravely, "the fight has gone on too long and with too little success. It must be changed - a new strategy devised. When I'm free, we can devise it together."

"You aren't interested in Blake's Cause? Or are you? Is that the goal of your strategy?"

"Blake's Cause is simplistic. You do not share his ideals, even if you carry on his fight. My...Cause, for want of a better word, is far more mercenary. There, that should appeal to you!"

"Politics," Avon said, smiling, "and commerce."

"The future good - especially for my organisation...and for us, of course, my love. We must remember ourselves."

"And remember the time," Maryk's voice interrupted sardonically. "I've been very patient, terrorist, and very forgiving. Now it's your turn to be patient. You can contact each other freely - but not too often. You may have nothing to do, Avon, but wander about exchanging plasma bolts with Federation ships, but we here are involved in a revolution and I don't want my personal strategist...my wet-nurse..." sarcastically, "distracted. The sooner I get my rightful crown, the sooner he'll be yours to have and hold. I'm sure you'll look forward to the holding, terrorist."

"Well, now," Avon said coolly, "you could be right about that."

"And the having," Carnell murmured lusciously. "Take care, my dearest, and speak to me again soon. Take no notice of Maryk - I'll work all the better for your frequent words of comfort."

"Yes," Avon said simply, and gazed at him until the screen went dead.

In Sorv, Carnell gritted his teeth and returned to his strategy, which at that moment was specifically Karian. He suddenly felt he could hardly bear to touch her.

"Just who is this Carnell?" Tarrant demanded of Vila. "Lovers' meeting? What did Prince What's-His-Name mean by that, eh?"

"Carnell's a real VIP," Vila said. "He'd run rings round you before you even got started."

"We're important..."

"Avon is," Vila corrected. "You aren't."

Tarrant snorted. "If Carnell's so important, why haven't we heard about him? How come he suddenly appears...and then that extraordinary conversation? Come on, Vila, tell us or do I have to drag it out of you?"

"You stop threatening me first." Vila turned to Gort. "Why does he always threaten me?" he asked pathetically. "What's wrong with him?"

"Insecurity," Gort replied. "He needs to assert himself - to convince you all he's as good as Avon, or nearly so."

"Perhaps I'd believe it better if he didn't threaten."

"Avon threatens!" Tarrant snapped. "He does it all the time."

"You're different to Avon," Vila replied. "When he threatens, he has a very good purpose. He can frighten me a great deal - but I can accept that. Avon knows what he's at."

"Avon's threats are calculated," Gort said. "He doesn't need to assert himself." He looked at Tarrant. "Avon's older and wiser than you - but you are as good, almost. It's just that you need time to mature. Avon becomes irritated with your youthful exuberance."

"I doubt if Avon ever possessed any youthful exuberance," Tarrant muttered, but he felt mollified. He'd expected the usual insults aimed at putting him down yet again, but he saw Gort had paid him a compliment. It was a nice change, and warming somehow. He looked at Gort with a new respect.

"Avon will only criticise if you annoy him," Gort said. "Just remember how clever he is and stop resenting his intelligence. You'll get on so much better with him if you admit he's in charge here - which he undoubtedly is. You know it, don't you, Tarrant?"

Tarrant stared at him for a moment and then dropped his gaze. "Yes," he muttered, honest for once, "I know it. But he's so...difficult. It's hard to accept the endless sarcasm."

"It's just his way. We all have our faults. Remember his formidable talents and be thankful you have him. He's very exceptional."

"Is Carnell exceptional?" Dayna queried curiously.

"Ah." Gort smiled at her. "They're two of a kind," he said. "Do you wonder they are friends?"

"More than friends," Soolin suggested. "I'd have said..." She hesitated. "As the Prince said, a lovers' meeting... Can that be true, High Councillor?"

"You saw them talking together," Gort replied. "Have you not decided for yourself?"

"Obviously I have and it surprises me. And yet...Avon's always so withdrawn. It's very hard to tell what he wants."

"What he wants," Gort said quietly, "is what he has - briefly - now. It's as you have surmised."

"He'll be happy again," Vila said. "None of you has ever seen him really happy. Oh, I'm pleased Carnell is safe - it's the best bit of news we've had in a long time."

"But he'll take us into new dangers, won't he?" Soolin said wisely. "Why do I have this feeling he may not be safe to know, this Carnell?"

"He and Avon together," Vila said, "live in a different Universe to the rest of us."

"Psychostrategy means manipulation," Soolin continued. She looked at Gort thoughtfully. "Are we being manipulated by Carnell, High Councillor?"

Gort's smile became as bland as any smile Vila had ever seen from Carnell. "What do you think?" he asked her. "What would you expect?"

"I don't know," she said, "but I think I intend to try and find out. I don't like the idea of anyone manipulating me, High Councillor Gort."

 

In Soolin's life, threat had always been met by counter-threat from the time she was old enough to use a gun. She sensed a threat now and as soon as she could, she went to Avon."

"Come..." He was in his cabin; not working for once, she noticed, but resting. He rose to his feet as she entered. "Yes?" he said neutrally.

"You may be able to guess what I want to know," she responded, "if your...friend shares his thoughts with you." She looked at Avon critically. He was, she thought, more relaxed than she'd ever known him. Perhaps Vila was right: perhaps Avon needed love. Perhaps she had assumed, wrongly, that he could live without affection. "I feel," she said, choosing her words carefully, "that Carnell could be a danger to us. Is that possible, Avon?"

"Yes, it's possible." He decided to speak fairly frankly to Soolin; indeed had guessed that she might come to him and question him. "But the threat won't be against us personally."

"Against Blake's Cause, then? Psychostrategists work for the Federation - Government-appointed. Why are you co-operating with a Government official, Avon?"

"You misunderstand their purpose," Avon said. "Sit down and let me tell you something about psychostrategy..."

He talked and she listened. He told her only as much as he felt she needed to know, enough to convince her as he had been convinced long ago that he and Carnell together could do more than Blake could ever achieve to change the Federation's rule. "It would have started long ago, but for Star One," he told her. "But Carnell will be free soon." He smiled slightly, thinking of the meeting that must come, the moment when their hands would touch again, the passion, the love... "Not long," he said. He would ensure it was not long now. Maryk would - must - release Carnell soon.

"Very well," Soolin said, "I accept for the moment that we should regard Carnell as a rather dangerous friend. You say he has not told you much of his strategy, that he requires you to work it out for yourself. Are you going to tell me what you have discovered?"

"As I explained," Avon said, "too much should never be told."

"I understand the reasoning. But you could tell me something."

"I deduce," Avon said slowly, "that we are intended to confront Blake...that I am intended to confront Blake."

"Blake is dead," Soolin said. "Or so you have told us."

"Orac is still looking for him," Avon said noncommittally. He did not want to tell Soolin about Blake yet.

"And you have a High Councillor on your side," she continued thoughtfully.

"It's wheels within wheels," Avon replied. "I told you - they're devious, these psychostrategists, and Gort and Carnell are most likely more devious even than the rest or they wouldn't be so powerful...would they? Don't rely on Gort, though. If we were captured, I doubt if he'd willingly lift a finger to save our lives."

"Would Carnell?" Soolin queried slyly.

Avon smiled and Soolin understood something of the passion he shared with Carnell. Perhaps, she thought, a psychostrategist could be useful after all.

### CHAPTER THREE

Maryk was pacing around his private apartments like a caged lion. It was, Carnell thought as he watched, more what his prisoner should have been doing. "Calm down," he said. "You're achieving nothing."

"You said I'd have that crown by now."

"I did not. I said soon. You are becoming apprehensive because you think I will try to leave before you are Emperor. I've told you already that I won't."

"Suppose there's some crisis over your terrorist friend? Suppose you suddenly decide he needs you more than I do."

"I've often felt that," Carnell retorted, "but I'm still here."

"You were my prisoner then."

"I am still your prisoner!"

"Are you? I think not. I may have guards around you but you no longer have the attitude of a prisoner. Your friend knows where you are. Your strategy to keep him in the dark about your activities has ended. If he feels you are in danger, or if he thinks I am keeping you too long, he will come and remove you with that teleport of his."

"You told me once that I could contact him," Carnell pointed out. "If I had, he could have come long ago."

"I felt then that you needed to stay with me - that you would not leave no matter what your lover said. It's not the same now."

"No," Carnell agreed quietly, "it's not the same. But that doesn't mean I'll leave. You know my devotion to strategy, Maryk. I won't desert you until you are ready to hold your Empire alone... For heaven's sake, sit down. You are making me giddy with all this touring about."

Maryk groaned and rather unwillingly dropped into a chair. "he was right, your friend," he said ruefully. "I do need a wet-nurse. What's wrong with me, Carnell?"

"Nothing that success and practice won't cure. The waiting is getting you down, that's all." It was not entirely true, of course. Maryk had been controlled since childhood by Sorv's usurper. It would take him a little longer yet to find the confidence to rule, but that confidence would come: Carnell could see the signs. "With the Imperial Crown yours at last, with your lovely wife in your arms again, and with heirs to follow you, you'll make a fine, wise ruler. Believe me, Maryk."

"Most of the time I do. But I look back on my past - the insidious so-called education which dulled my ambition and weakened my resolve. I don't intend to give in to it, yet occasionally I doubt myself... Carnell, I am sure we should have won by now. What has gone wrong? Why won't you tell me?"

"Nothing has gone wrong. You must learn patience."

"The usurper should be dead. Why has the assassination not yet happened? You said it could not fail."

"It can't."

"Karian has failed you - that's it. You've neglected her since you found your Avon again."

"No, I have not, although I wish I need never see her again: she is becoming a clinging nuisance. But I act well, believe me. She's still quite convinced of my undying, helpless passion for her. And you know part of the delay is our need to ensure Harran doesn't murder your wife in spite of his threats. I have to ensure Karian will protect her."

Maryk slumped gloomily in his seat. "You aren't going to depose me as well, are you, because I can't live up to your expectations?"

Carnell sighed. "I've moulded you for your future, and it's taken time, but you're ready now if only you could see it. The moment that crown is on your very able head, I shall leave you...and then you'll rule alone. Believe it or not, Maryk, that's what you need: freedom from me. I have been here too long."  _And you are going to succeed, whether you want it or not,_  he thought.  _I haven't gone through all this for nothing!_ "Just a few more weeks," he said. "That's my assessment, going on present data."

"One thing," Maryk said, just a little hesitantly as though he expected a rebuff and was trying to think how to cope with it. "Will you come to my coronation?"

Carnell laughed. "It will be my last duty for you. Or shall I get them to put me in your place. After all, I have - as you keep telling me - more confidence than you. Perhaps I should be Emperor of Sorv?"

"Now that," Maryk said grimly, rising to his feet and advancing on Carnell threateningly, "is...I hope...merely a joke."

"There you are," Carnell countered. "You can't see anyone else on your rightful throne, can you, not even me!"

Maryk stopped advancing and eyed Carnell thoughtfully. "I'll miss you," he said. "Whether or not I need you to prop up my reign is another matter... But I'll miss you. Do you think we can really be friends at last?"

"We've been friends all along," Carnell said. "Why should you ever doubt it?"

"You'll forgive me for holding you against your will?"

"There's will and will," Carnell replied. "You know my motives."

"You are perhaps the hardest man I've ever known..."

"Yes," Carnell said quietly. "I need to be - don't you think?"

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  There are times when I wonder if friends are ever worth having. I meet an old friend and what does he do but try to hand me over to Servalan? Worse, a supposedly excellent plan goes to waste, not to mention a fortune in gold which is now worthless... But Vila proved his worth for once, for I hear he actually took charge in my absence and threatened my so-called friend. Occasionally, it seems, even Vila can surprise... Gort's revelations about Zukan and his enemies are sobering. I'm aware the alliance will be risky - even more now than I'd thought. I'm no diplomat - I'm sure you'd agree; so how am I to force these suspicious warlords to accept Zukan? My love.  **Avon."**

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  I've now seen Gort's data and I don't like the sound of Zukan at all: he's definitely not to be trusted. But I agree you may have no other choice. Very well, here follows something of the psychostrategists' code on how to deal with recalcitrant, suspicious princelings... I wonder how much of it you can put into practice before you lose patience with all of them? As for Zukan, don't worry about his finer feelings for he doesn't have any. Make him see the advantages of your plan...and threaten him freely. Threats are, I'd say, all that devious b... would understand. Take care, my dearest. **Carnell."**

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  We have a problem with Zukan, who is insisting that the processing of the Pylene-50 antidote must take place on Xenon base. You can imagine that I hardly approve of that idea. The last thing I want is any connection with processing, let alone having to oversee technicians. But it's the sticking point of the agreement. I'm trying to persuade Zukan otherwise, but if I fail the whole plan may fail... Gort tells me you have problems now which may delay Maryk's coronation a little, but at last he has his Empire. Do you really need to stay there any longer? I could do with a tame psychostrategist at my side just now - though perhaps the prestigious Director of your Institute might refuse such a commission? We have been approached by an individual named Egrorian. Tachyons are his field and some revolutionary weapon his bargaining point. I can well imagine what the Federation might do with such a weapon - if they can work out how to use it; but I could use it even better, don't you think? It sounds like another IMIPAK - lethal and worse... It cannot be long now before we meet. Why don't you abandon your uncertain Emperor? My love.  **Avon."**

 ****" **...Carnell to Avon.**  You should do everything you can keep Zukan out of your base. I can't see why he should need to use it when he has a whole Kingdom of planets - admittedly mostly stolen - at his disposal. It's all very suspicious but it's hard for me to say why from this distance. Still, there are times when suspicion can work against strategy and one must guard against allowing suspicion to take charge. Instinct can be wrong, or data can be misleading... Zukan is the kind of man who'll do everything to avoid being landed with the proverbial baby and Pylene-50's antidote is a very nasty baby indeed whilst it's being processed: another good reason to keep it off your base, incidentally. Is there no way you could threaten him without frightening him off? There's his daughter for example - a pretty girl and ripe for picking: his only heir, too. Have you considered introducing her to that nice young pilot of yours? Such an unsuitable match - a terrorist, a savage by Zukan's haughty standards... Or his wife? If you can't face seducing her, there are other ways, but it's amazing what you can achieve in a ruler's bedroom when he isn't there. Unprincipled, am I? Or perhaps you'd prefer a more direct method - an approach to one of his soon-to-be allies? Mind you, that's risky, especially as you aren't - as you say - the best of diplomats... Egrorian? A madman, but clever with it: anything he produces will work. But be careful, because he had some connection with Servalan once. And don't trust him. Whatever he says will be twofaced. This is one time when you can certainly let suspicion run riot, and instinct too... Yes, the delay here is infuriating but we can't except total success all the time. The coronation will take place in a few days' time and then I am leaving - no matter what. Beloved, it will be very soon. Nothing else will keep me from you now, not even a major disaster here...nothing. **Carnell."**

 **"Avon to Carnell.**  Malodaar? I'd prefer to forget it. A tragedy, a disaster and a problem now with Vila which is not going to be resolved easily. It was predictable that Egrorian would try to trick us, so naturally I was out to trick him. Unfortunately, his trick turned out to be better than mine... Vila no longer trusts me and is in the depths of despair... No, I am not going to tell you why, not now. He is only a Delta and yet I... He will tell you when he sees you, have no doubt of it. The whole sorry, cruel story will pour out of him and you will analyse it and both of us and offer us sane, logical comfort. What a deal of comfort you are going to have to provide, Carnell. I suppose you'll enjoy that... We get nowhere with Zukan. Either he uses our base or the alliance fails: that's his final word, he says, and I believe him. So I have given in - reluctantly and uneasily. I only hope it was the right decision...only wish I could have seen another way. Still, one success: Tarrant is hopelessly in love with the girl. How he will suffer if this plan fails...but you know that. I refuse to seduce Zukan's wife; there are limits to what I will do for strategy... You must be about to leave Sorv now...the coronation over, your protégé ensconced as ruler at last. Where and when are we to meet? My love.  **Avon."**

 

"It's a handsome vehicle," Maryk said, surveying Carnell's new ship approvingly. "Your Institute does you proud...and not from the Federation's shipyards, I see."

"I like to diversify," Carnell replied. "In any case, the Federation does not produce the best ships. If it did, I'd have a Federation ship."

Maryk nodded, and then frowned. "But now you leave. After all this time, I find it hard to believe... As you said, I have become used having you here."

"I'll always be available, if you need me. You have my colleague Megarn permanently seconded to your staff. Trust her as you have trusted me."

Maryk grinned at that. "Are you really advising me to trustone of your type?"

Carnell smiled too. "You'll have to decide that for yourself."

Carnell went straight from Sorv to Skar. After the inevitable joyous reunion with his staff, he retired to his private suite and had, at last, a lengthy and frank discussion with Gort at Institute headquarters. Then, finally, he could relax a little.

So much had to be checked, so much that had waited for him all these weary months, for even Gort could not do everything for him. Amongst it all, he found a long-ago message from Avon. Old history now, Avon on Liberator when he'd regained his marvellous ship after the Andromedan war: Avon confident, cheerful and looking forward to an interesting, hopefully-wealthy future. Avon unaware of the tragedy to come, the loss of love, happiness and hope.

And now? The antidote to Pylene-50 might flood the Federation if Avon's present plans succeeded; but Zukan was untrustworthy and failure must be a fifty-fifty possibility. Carnell wished he could discover how Zukan might fail them but he had not time nor opportunity to think about it now and he could not give Avon any advice except the need for continual caution.

So - that left Blake still mouldering hopefully and doubtless energetically on Gauda Prime. Gort had a great deal of information on Blake's progress. The revolutionary army was small at present, scattered and hardly adequate to challenge anyone, but Blake had charisma and determination, agents on many planets, some troops adequately armed and trained, useful contacts, and a trusty lieutenant in a certain Deva who ran his bounty-hunting cover operation.

But not all was well in Blake's operation, although Blake did not appear to know it. His base had been infiltrated by Federation Security after a Federation officer had by chance recognised Blake in spite of the heavy scar which now disfigured his face. Gort had obtained access to the secret Security files: yet another useful little bit of grafting. Carnell read the file with interest, and with amusement...for the infiltration was being handled by a certain Commissioner Sleer; which was very satisfactory, very satisfactory indeed. Servalan had undoubtedly angled for the job and would be hoping to encounter Avon on Gauda Prime.

Avon's latest message arrived while Carnell worked. He frowned slightly over the Malodaar affair, regretting the loss of the weapon before he'd had a chance to see it and assess it, and wondering what might have happened between Avon and Vila; but he'd find out soon enough.

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  Free at last! And soon to meet...very soon, I promise. There are many things we must discuss, more even than you may imagine, though you'd guess by now that my strategies never end...how could they? But you'll understand I must go first for my Investiture. I've been away so long and it cannot wait. The day is fixed, the ceremony arranged - there's no time to come to you first, much as I long for you... Such a little while now and we shall be together, your hands in mine, the night to come... Smile at me, my love!  **Carnell."**

 ****It was late at night when he came to the Institute, yet the place was ablaze with light. With the date of his freedom finally known, all the arrangements had been made quickly, and his colleagues had come at all costs to see him and talk to him, if only for a few moments in the crush. And there, a little in the background, tears of joy in her eyes, was his lovely and faithful Aide, Sandri, who knew him better than any woman, better than anyone except Gort and Avon... He held out his hands to her and she came to him, falling into his arms. "Sandri, Sandri!" he exclaimed, lifting her off her feet and then kissing her delightedly, and she clung to him.

There was no chance to sleep until at last everyone was too exhausted to continue and sleep itself was enforcedly brief before the ceremony. Then the great moment, when he took control officially and openly of the great and powerful organisation whose aims he swore on his honour and for all his life remaining to further at all costs and with all ingenuity. He drifted through the day on a wave of adrenalin and excitement, never forgetting Avon, never forgetting their future together, but revelling in the present and its promise. And then it was done and over bar the partying which would last long into another exhausting night and the next day, before normality could return and his colleagues would get back to their scheming.

"Sandri," said Carnell to his Aide who had been at his side throughout the day, "I've no time for parties. There are serious matters afoot out there in our galaxy and I have to see they are turned to our advantage. Can you give your attention to work for a little while?"

"What else have I been waiting for all these months?" she demanded, tucking her arm in his. "I suppose it's related to...to Avon." She knew of the relationship of course. She had sighed at first and wept a little, but there, Carnell had never been hers, never could be, and she knew it; and she would not allow sentiment to wreck her life. It was more important to Sandri to work with him than to beg for love, fail to win it and then lose him for ever.

"Yes," he agreed, unable to hide his melting, dazzling pleasure at the thought of Avon, "it's about terrorists and rebellion and other dangerous pursuits."

"Would you say," Sandri queried as they set to work, "that Blake has been driven to what he plans partly by your earlier manipulations?"

"I chose to take him away from Avon because I feared the disaster could occur much sooner if they were together. The risk was too great."

"Yes," Sandri said, "I have deduced that; but it must come partly from his own need for Avon, a need which Avon could never satisfy once you..."

"Once I stole Avon away? Life is full of such disappointments, isn't it? Blake should accept that - after all, I didn't actually plan to - er - steal Avon away from him."

"But did Blake accept it? Could he?"

"The long separation will have dulled the pain, perhaps."

 _It did not for me,_  Sandri thought, and quite clearly it had not for Avon, nor for Carnell. So what effect would an unacknowledged, uncomfortable, emotionally inexplicable and unacceptable affection have on Blake, especially when he saw the object of his affection again? Reports indicated that Blake was reasonably sensible at present but embittered and pathologically suspicious.

"It is a tragedy," Carnell said. "Blake could have been the great ruler the Federation needs: he had all the qualities. But he came at the wrong time so Security took him and destroyed his mind." And Blake was permanently unstable now. Indoctrination had changed him irrevocably and at any moment some trigger, unexpected or unexplained, might send him over the edge into permanent insanity. "Since it must happen," Carnell said, "we must make sure that we control it."

"I see the purpose of your plan," Sandri said, "but is it essential to use Blake now?"

"No. If Avon's present scheme is successful, we might leave Blake alone for a while unless he becomes too much of a nuisance. But I think Zukan or one of the other warlords will fail Avon: not yet, perhaps, but eventually."

"So eventually, Avon must face Blake."

"I believe so, and if it's to happen sometime, it might as well be soon and then over with. I'd prefer to forget about Blake altogether, but it's not just Blake's existence that matters, is it, Sandri?"

"No," she replied gravely. "It's his determination to succeed which makes him so dangerous."

"It's the one ideal Security never managed to take away from him," Carnell said. "He'll never give up...never."

"You are sure of his intention?"

"Oh yes," Carnell said grimly, "I am. Every scrap of data points to it, every assessment leads to it, no matter how I manipulate the detail. Some day, sometime, somehow, Blake intends to assassinate Avon for political gain. And we, Sandri, have to prevent it."

 


	5. THE CHAIN OF DESTINY

## PART VI - THE CHAIN OF DESTINY

Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time.

Winston Spencer Churchill

 

### CHAPTER ONE

"Damn and blast Zukan!" Avon swore savagely. It was not often that he was driven to violent swearing but he had set such store by the alliance. "And damn and blast Servalan," he added furiously. "How in heaven's name did she get on to this?"

"Your friend Carnell could have told her," Soolin remarked bluntly. "Or, of course, that devious High Councillor Gort. Are you sure Gort takes Carnell's orders, Avon?"

"Yes, I am; just as I'm sure Carnell wouldn't betray us." There was no point in being annoyed with Soolin. The argument was a fair one and it would not be easy for him to explain why he trusted Carnell implicitly. Of course he had no particular reason to trust Gort, apart from the fact that he was convinced Gort had not betrayed him.

"You've been wrong in the past," Tarrant commented viciously. He was sad-eyed and bitter, and all too ready to lash out at Avon or anyone else who could possibly be thought to have upset him. "I don't see how we can trust anyone, Avon."

Avon looked at him. "You trusted Zeeona: Zukan's daughter. Why, Tarrant?"

Tarrant stared back at Avon and then dropped his eyes. "She proved her love. She died for us."

"Yes," Avon said quietly, "I know, and am grateful. By the same token, I have cause to trust. Remember that."

Tarrant was silent. He felt tears burning his throat, wondered if the pain would ever cease. Was this how Avon had felt, all those long months? But Avon's lover had returned. Zeeona could never return. He'd seen her dead, he'd taken out the horrific thing that she had become and buried it on Xenon. Zeeona was gone for ever... Abruptly, he jerked to his feet and went away from them all, away from the quiet sympathy which was too much to bear, away from the place where she had died before his eyes; out on to Xenon's surface to walk and walk and stand by her grave yet again and weep.

"He shouldn't be alone," Dayna said anxiously.

"But he wishes to be alone," Avon responded. "Leave him in peace for a little to grieve. It'll pass."

"First his brother and now this," Dayna said distractedly. "It's too much."

"I know. But there's nothing you can do except let him talk about it if he so wishes. Talking is the only answer, really." But he had not been able to talk about Carnell, not even to Vila. There had been no-one to talk to of Carnell, nor, earlier, of Anna. "We must plan what we're going to do next," he said. "There's only one possibility left now."

"Are you going to tell us what it is?" Soolin asked him.

"Yes," he replied, "but not now." First, he would see Carnell...and ask for his advice.

From his Institute, Carnell went to Earth to take up his other prestigious duty. High Council welcomed him diplomatically, aware that the Director of the Institute for Psychostrategic Studies always held a seat on High Council no matter who was in power politically. The Institute was useful and influential and dependable - stability in the midst of what could often be chaos if a bad President were in power or warring factions created a power vacuum. The Director was invariably sensible, careful and unprovocative, and Gort had been a supreme diplomat. It remained to be seen how his young, handsome and undeniably charming successor would behave, but at least High Council could be sure he'd be diplomatic and not interfere too much.

Carnell attended one meeting, which confirmed his election in Gort's place and allowed him a maiden speech which he delivered with cool and restrained self-assurance: a carefully neutral speech which gained the confidence of his peers without allowing them a moment's unease. Yes, they agreed amongst themselves later, he was a delightful new addition, very attractive, very amusing in a light, inoffensive way, yet firm with it and determined. He reminded the older ones amongst them of his equally attractive, equally amusing, charming yet determined and clever father, and would no doubt succeed as his father had done in remaining on High Council for many years. He was approved wholeheartedly.

Smiling to himself, Carnell left them to it, arranged for a deputy to sit in when he was absent, as was allowed so long as the deputy kept silent. Then he went hurriedly to his Terran house in one of the parklands on the edge of WestEurop Dome.

"There's a message just come for you," he was told as he entered the doors. "It's marked urgent."

He went to his viewconsole and flipped the control. Any message from Avon that was urgent must be little short of disaster - or incredible success, and the latter was not likely just now. As he suspected, disaster it was: not unexpected, but regrettable.

 **"...Avon to Carnell.**  I seem to be fated - yet I do not believe in such fancies, as you know. Servalan has wrecked yet another plan and I can't for the life of me think how she achieved it this time. What possible hold can she have had over Zukan of all people? Perhaps you will be able to find out? Orac has no solutions at all, no useful conjectures, and I suspect there is no point in pursing the subject any more... Unfortunately, Servalan will now know how to find our base, so we have destroyed it. I can only suggest we meet and talk, and then - unless you raise any serious objections - I shall go at last to Blake. I've had enough of all this. My love, as ever. **Avon."**

 ****So it was now to come, the confrontation which Carnell had planned for and dreaded, which would make or break the strategy which had driven him and had seized Avon and Avon's companions in its net, the strategy which could make or break his plans for the future and the Federation's might, for his happiness and Avon's love. And Avon, more experienced now in strategic determination, knowing Carnell and Carnell's methods as he did, determined to rid himself of Blake's Cause for good and all...Avon would have a very fair idea of what Carnell planned and feared. Together they would discuss the final details, and then Avon would go to Gauda Prime.

Carnell had now studied all the latest available data and revised the detail of his strategy. Checking Sleer's file again, he had noted she had sent an agent named Arlen to Blake's base and that, along with other information he had discovered, indicated that she too was expecting Avon to come to Blake. Was it possible she could predict the time? Or should someone - someone with inside knowledge - prompt her a little?

Carnell could see only too well the advantage of having Servalan along at the momentous gathering; and it was possible to use Servalan, just as he intended to use Blake. He called his Aide.

"Sandri, my dear, find Servalan for me, will you...Commissioner Sleer, that is: what an unattractive name for such a woman! I don't wish to speak to her, merely to send a carefully anonymous message."

"You're going to tell her of Avon's visit to Blake," Sandri guessed. "But she'll try to kill both of them. That isn't what you want."

"I want her there and I have an idea how we can protect Avon at least. First, we find her. Then we contact Del Grant and tell him we have a very lucrative contract for him..."

 **"...Carnell to Avon.**  I have done everything I can and only hope now that there will be no chance events serious enough to interfere. Arrange to meet me at grid reference...and do try not to be late for I am so very impatient to see you. Life has been far too serious these last months and at last we'll be able to relax together - won't that be delightful? My ship, I think: at least my crew know what's what and won't - er - gawp... The game's nearly done, my love, and one way or another we have to win. I won't accept anything less than that.  **Carnell."**

 ****Twenty days of flight, twenty long, tedious days, and then the moment came at last. Scorpio's scanners detected the ship, described the design which was not Federation yet not hostile. "Carnell," Avon said and waited at his console until the ship came close.

"Greetings, Scorpio." It was Tora, coming through on visual. "I believe we are now close enough for teleport."

"Easily so," Tarrant confirmed. "Parallel and holding."

Avon picked up a teleport bracelet and snapped it on his wrist. "You'll manage for a while without me, I'm sure," he remarked drily to his companions. "Will you operate the teleport, Vila?"

Vila nodded and moved to the control. "Tell Carnell I'd be pleased to see him, if he can spare the time."

"But will he be pleased to see you, that's the question," Avon countered acidly.

"I'm going to tell him some things about you," Vila said spitefully. "It's not easy to forgive Malodaar."

"Who's asking you to forgive?" Avon retorted. "Send me across, Vila...now."

Scorpio faded, another flight deck materialised in its place...coolly elegant, functional yet attractive, typical of Carnell's restrained flamboyance. And there in front of him, Carnell stood. He held out his hands and Carnell came to take them. "The only good thing about a parting is the reunion to come," Carnell said softly. "Welcome, and let us be together for a while at last."

Whether on Skar, or here, it was all perfection, the freedom to be alone together, to talk or to love...love which drifted deliciously from tenderness to passion and then melting fulfilment; or just to stay quiet and think. "So long," Carnell said. "Too long - but only one more parting, my love, and then no more of sorrow. I don't take kindly to frustration."

"Who does?" Avon replied wryly. "But will I survive this parting, Carnell? What does your instinct tell you?"

"If I believed you were to die, I wouldn't let you go...would I? But yes, it's dangerous."

"I've faced danger enough in my life since Blake dragged me into his Cause. One more time - I suppose I can take that. Going to Blake will be both a bore and a relief but at least it will then be done with."

"Truly."

"But I'll still be a hunted outlaw...and here you are, High Councillor of the Terran Federation. How can I ever be with you, Carnell?"

"That's what the meeting has to accomplish, my love. You'll see, when the time comes."

"You aren't going to explain?"

"I...can't. You'll understand why."

"Strategy again!" Avon sighed. "But I've deduced a good deal. For example, Servalan is looking for Blake."

"She's found him. She has agents on Gauda Prime and I've - er - told her you'll be there.

"You have?" Avon was less than pleased. "That's too risky for my liking."

"It's provocative! She doesn't know the message came from me. Perhaps she'll think it came from you and she'll become overly - um - excited. And think how pleased you will be to see her. You can ask her about Zukan."

Avon grimaced. "More tricks?"

"She'll serve a useful purpose."

"She usually serves a destructive purpose. How are you going to ensure she doesn't kill me?"

"Perhaps I could reason with her sweetly. Or kill her before she gets you?"

"And Blake," Avon said later. "You believe he will try to kill me. Yes, I've studied your methods well and worked it out with Orac. Did you intend to tell me?"

"Yes," Carnell told him. "Go on..."

"I can't. I see no reason for it. Blake always needed me: why should he kill me now."

"Consider his situation," Carnell said. "He's a petty rebel on a petty planet, almost forgotten. You are infamous - the Federation's scourge and despair. You are what Blake was and thinks, in his shattered mind, he should still be...but for your indifference. You know where he is, but have not gone to rescue him."

"I am what he could have perhaps remained in spite of his instability, if you had not parted us," Avon commented. "So why did you part us, Carnell? Was it in order to create this very grievance?"

"No," Carnell replied. "I took Blake away because the grievance was already there and Blake was too unstable to control it. I took him away to save your life. Intuition, if you like, as with my conviction that we would be parted although I had no clear reason for fear. I had to preserve your life. Blake is dangerous...trigger-happy. Bounty hunters don't wait on friendly words, Avon! Furthermore, he's changed for the worse even more than you might imagine. He sees enemies everywhere he looks and even his allies and his troops have continually to prove their worth. He succeeds because of his past reputation, his personal charisma which is quite devastating when he wants to use it...and because of his connection with you which he uses ruthlessly to gain new friends."

"None of this explains why he should wish to kill me."

"There's a very good reason why and he will see it as irrevocable logic. Imagine yourself in his place: needing to succeed, needing to be the figurehead he once was...and then faced with success in the form of the man who once followed him, however unwillingly, who now meets Servalan on equal terms while Blake, the rightful leader, struggles in the background. It's frustration, Avon, pathologically interminable...unbearable when you've a Cause you must win at all costs. Furthermore, he is bound to you emotionally yet he dare not admit it to himself."

"Ah, yes," Avon said grimly, "now I understand. In killing me, he will make himself a hero, for once I am dead he can destroy what I was...or thinks he can...and take my reputation and use it for himself. That's what you believe, isn't it? He has to get me out of his way, for ever, or I shall always overshadow him."

"Yes," Carnell said, "that's what I believe - and that's what he believes, absolutely, if I am right. He wishes to make a martyr of you publicly, though, a martyr to the Cause. Destroying you is something else, a secret, unconscious desire. That kind of violence is akin to love, Avon, terrifyingly so. In destroying you, he can make you his for ever, you see. It is all part of the conditioning, this violence. I've seen the records... Security weren't just thorough, they were vicious."

"Aren't they always?"

"Normally, no; they aren't all psychopaths. But they were mortally afraid of Blake. He was like Servalan - but moral. It was the morality they feared."

For the first time, Avon perhaps understood entirely what the Federation had so wilfully, so senselessly destroyed.  _I never really knew him at all,_  Avon thought.  _They took a man who could have done anything, and wrecked him._  "And the tragedy," he said, "is that now it's my life or his."

"Yes...your life, or his; but only, Avon, if I am right. And I'm very much afraid that this time it's a decision you must make. I can only stand in the background and wait."  _And watch with compassion the final disintegration of the man who might have been the greatest leader the Federation had ever known, if they'd not destroyed him before he'd had the chance to try,_ Carnell thought. The sickening waste of it all saddened him immeasurably.

"Another parting," Carnell said the next day," but this time I'll not be far away. The endgame at last, and ours for the taking."

"Nothing's guaranteed..."

They stood on Carnell's flight deck. "There's nothing more I can safely tell you," Carnell said.

Another parting...another duel with death. "Safety," Avon said, "is something I seem perpetually to have to do without... Oh, I nearly forgot: Vila wanted to talk to you."

"We don't have the time, unless he makes it quick. Do you think it's vitally important?"

"Nothing Vila says is vitally important - and he won't make it quick as he has a grievance against me and will ramble for hours, given the chance."

"A grievance? Against you? Is it possible?" Carnell enquired drily. "This I must hear - some time. Not now."

Avon smiled faintly. "I suppose we can say our fond - tactfully fond - farewells over the visual link, and he can have the pleasure of seeing you if nothing else. He's been very morose recently - almost any kind of light relief will help."

"Is that all I am, light relief? I'll remember that, the next time we are alone... Very well, just a few words."

On Scorpio, Vila viewed Carnell with open relief. "Five minutes would be long enough," he wheedled. "Please, Carnell..."

Carnell sighed inwardly. "Vila! Oh, very well. Talk away."

"Not in front of them..."

"In front of them or not at all. This is one time, Vila, when I cannot gossip with you. Just tell me - simply and quickly - what is wrong."

Vila felt Avon's stare boring into him. "I can't," he said. "I can't say it. He'd...kill me."

"Who would? Avon? Why should he kill you?"

"He's tried." Vila was trembling suddenly with the remembered fear of it all. "He came after me with a gun. There was murder in his eyes. He tried to make me come out so that he could shoot me - do away with me. I thought I'd always be safe with him, but it wasn't true, was it? Carnell...take me with you. Please."

"No, Vila," Carnell said flatly. "Avon needs you."

"What does he mean?" Dayna was demanding. "How could Avon think of shooting him?"

"Vila's been different since Malodaar," Tarrant said. "Frightened... You couldn't help noticing."

"He shies away from Avon now." Soolin was staring at Avon accusingly. "We've all noticed - but we didn't wish to interfere."

"Take me with you, Carnell," Vila repeated, quite desperately. "He may kill me at any time...for any reason. I have to be somewhere that's safe, Carnell. With you I'd be safe. You've always been - nice to me."

"Have I?" Carnell replied to Vila but he was looking at Avon. "I think," he said slowly, considering, "perhaps whatever happened on Malodaar was an - anomaly. Listen, Vila: there are moments in our lives when we have to make fearful decisions which hurt those we value. I took such a decision after the Andromedan war. It was hard, cruel even... I did not take it lightly; and I could have been wrong. Suppose I had been wrong, suppose Avon and I have suffered for no reason but my...conviction. Should Avon hold it against me for the rest of our lives, or should he understand and forgive?"

"Avon doesn't need forgiveness"" Vila wailed, his voice squeaky with fright and tension. "He makes nasty, chilly decisions. He doesn't care how I feel. He chases me with a gun - and you tell me I should understand. That's impossible."

"It's not impossible, not at all. Analyse it, Vila, from start to finish. Follow the pattern - cause and effect. If you don't understand the method, talk to Orac and Orac will analyse for you; or wait until I have the time. I don't have the time now, nor the enthusiasm to listen. More decisions, Vila, and this one may confuse you: use your own initiative, discover the answers, see the purpose...and then forgive. I don't believe Avon wished to kill you. Take the argument from there."

"He's told you...?"

"He's told me nothing. Later perhaps he will, or you will, but by then you will probably have worked it all out for yourself... Avon, we must leave now. You must not be late for your tryst with Blake."

On Gauda Prime, Roj Blake had a new convert and was feeling reasonably pleased with himself. Troops for the revolution came so slowly: it was an exhausting task. And he hated Gauda Prime, hated it with a savage, angry bitterness...the dreary landscape, the dreary, violent people, the dreary, interminable damp and the dreary, cloudy sky that so rarely let through the sun. It was, he thought, quite the most miserable place to be.

Still, young Arlen - tough, resourceful and enthusiastic Arlen - was a new asset. She reminded him so much of Cally... He wondered where Cally was now. Still with Avon, he supposed, and that galled him, for he'd thought Cally's heart belonged to himself and revolution, not to infuriating, supercilious, useful but intolerable Avon...

Blake missed Cally. Her devotion to the Cause had been heartening, always one of the brightest spots in his life. He had not been able to understand it when Cally had not brought Avon to find him after the war. He'd been stranded by that evil charlatan, Carnell...cheated even by Del Grant whom earlier he'd have surely trusted with his life. What had Grant been thinking of, working for Carnell? Bribed, Blake supposed, with a superb new ship - many times grander than he needed, let alone deserved. Blake could have done with that ship... So, no wonder Grant had jumped to Carnell's orders. But Cally was different. She'd fancied Carnell, they'd all known that, but she was sensible. Once Blake told her of Carnell's cheating ways, she'd have changed her allegiance back to Blake.

And Avon? Well, Avon had been cruelly deceived too, but one of these days he'd come back to his reliable old friend Blake...back and begging to return to the fold, swearing he knew better now than to trust Official Federation Psychostrategists, even when they were avowedly on the run from Servalan. And then he and Avon would be together again, fighting, working for freedom. Himself and Avon: the ideal partnership. For Avon was a committed rebel now, Avon was famous, powerful and greatly feared. Avon was the figurehead for freedom.

Of course, there was a problem. Avon was perhaps too powerful. Would Avon condescend now to work with Blake on a miserable hole like Gauda Prime? Or was Avon still deceived by Carnell, was Avon still convinced of his own superiority, pampered and cossetted by his cheating lover? Was Avon fit to resume the struggle with Blake?

 _I've investigated your lover,_  Blake raged, thinking of Avon with Carnell.  _I've traced him and checked him on my computers and if I get the chance I'll seize him and give him to Servalan. Bounty, Avon, what a bounty he'd bring! Carnell's not fit to know, Avon, and he's on Servalan's death list. Did you know that, Avon? I've seen her death list and Carnell's there in black and white with a price which'd probably please him no end..._  Oh yes, Blake would take Carnell if he could find him but searching the whole galaxy was too much of a task even for the legendary Roj Blake.

So he'd wait for Avon to come and they would be together, and after a while he'd trace Carnell through Avon. When he'd taken Carnell and handed him over to Servalan...then it would be the time to think of the future.

There was unfortunately a problem about the future which Avon would have to face, eventually. It related to the fact that Avon was too important these days, more important than Blake and that would never do. Avon would come to understand that in time - would come to understand that he should have searched for Blake instead of following his own misguided course to fame (certain), riches (probably) and Carnell (still?)  _It was a fearful error, Avon, abandoning me..._ But it could be turned to good account. Avon had always been difficult...and there would - must - come a time when Blake was the acknowledged leader again for all the galaxy to see, and then Avon must serve a new purpose.

Meantime, Avon must be made to understand that Blake was his only true friend. When Carnell was out of the way, eliminated by dear, savage Servalan, there would be no-one else for Avon to...love. He would turn to Blake and Blake would accept his devotion kindly...affectionately. That would be the time when Blake would explain to Avon that Avon was to be a martyr in the name of freedom. Yes, Avon must die, to ensure that he could never again usurp Blake's place, never again turn to some other man for...love...nor ever again have the chance to betray his dearest friend.

When he understood, Avon would die willingly. Avon was not afraid of death. Avon was not afraid of anything. Avon was...almost perfection.

 _Come soon,_  Blake thought, clenching his fists. _I've waited far too long. I can't take much more of Gauda Prime. I can't take much more of oblivion. I need you, Avon, to get me out of this place, to give me your success, to be...mine. Soon, Avon...or I shall go mad with the waiting._  He was at times, now, insane.

Vila eventually followed Carnell's advice and talked to Orac one night when he was on watch and Avon and the others were well out of the way. Oddly, he suspected that Avon approved and perhaps this before anything else prompted him to wonder for the first time whether Avon had not wished to kill him after all. Orac, using logic and Carnell's humanistic methods, soothed him still further.

+It is clear,+ Orac intoned, +that Avon faced an appalling dilemma. The shuttle would, it seemed, crash for certain. It was necessary, he believed sincerely, that one of you should die. The simple fact, Vila, is that he had no choice. What would you have done if he had waited until the bitter end? How would you have survived?+

"We'd have died together," Vila said, "and he wouldn't have had my death on his conscience...not that he has a conscience so I suppose that doesn't apply anyway. But I'd have died knowing he didn't want to kill me."

+But you'd still have died, and so would he - leaving Scorpio, your companions, and your fight against the Federation, many things unfinished. It was logical, Vila, that Avon would feel he needed to survive. He could accomplish so much, whilst you were merely a Delta lieutenant.+

"'Merely'? That's a bit hard, Orac."

+You must be objective,+ Orac reproved him. +Emotional responses are inappropriate.+

"Carnell takes human feelings into account."

+Since you like to quote Carnell, ask yourself what Carnell would have done in Avon's place.+

Vila thought about it. "He'd have talked to me."

+Briefly,+ Orac said. +There was very little time for talking.+

"All right. He'd have talked to me briefly. But he wouldn't have chased me with a gun and scared me."

+Very well,+ Orac said. +He would not have chased you. He would have found some less distressing way to kill you.+

"To kill me? Orac, Carnell wouldn't kill me!"

"You are not being logical. How else could he survive?+

"That's unfair! You're saying Carnell is as ruthless as Avon."

+I am saying he is as logical as Avon. One of you needed to survive. It would be futile to allow both of you to die. Avon needed to survive in order to continue to direct Blake's Cause. Carnell would need to survive in order to continue to direct his Institute. Carnell's Institute needs him, Vila. It does not need you.+

"You're trying to tell me I'm useless, is that it? Thanks for nothing, Orac."

+What can you contribute?+ Orac demanded. "You have your talents but you cannot direct Federation policy - as Carnell can, nor attack it with flair and determination - as Avon can. Given a choice, you would have to die. That's the decision Avon had to make, the decision Carnell would have made. Accept it, Vila, and understand that Avon must have suffered much distress when he was searching for you.+

"I can imagine," Vila muttered viciously. "He must have been very distressed when he couldn't find me and he realised he might have to die as well, after all. I do feel for him."

+When he found the fragment of neutron star, he asked for your help. Logic dictates that you should have assisted him but instead you cowered in a corner and left him to save you both. At that moment, Vila, you failed Avon.+

"You mean I should have come over all forgiving and offered myself for the slaughter? That's ridiculous!"

+But he'd have no need to kill you by then. So why hide?+

It was a fair point and Vila had not thought of it before. He considered it dutifully. "I was terrified," he said at length. "I didn't know what to do."

+So you were not thinking logically. Worse, you were proving you were useless. The only mitigation for your weakness is that you did not wish to die and Avon's decision to kill you could not be expected to please you. Very well, it is an acceptable argument, if excessively emotional. Be thankful Avon managed to jettison the fragment.+

"What you are telling me," Vila said slowly, "is that I should be grateful to Avon...for saving my life. Is that it?"

+That,+ Orac agreed succinctly, +is precisely it. But your distress and emotional trauma are understandable: you are still in shock. Avon will be considerate, I am sure.+

"Well," Vila said sarcastically, "that's a great comfort."

Yet he felt better for the discussion. He still found the thought of Avon's chill choice distressing, still remembered with utter terror how Avon had searched for him, yet he remembered too Avon's voice - strangely altered, strangely hesitant. Had Avon really been dismayed, as Orac suggested? "Tell me, Orac," Vila said, "what Avon would have done if it had been Carnell with him rather than me. Would he have tried to kill Carnell?"

+Carnell is very different to you,+ Orac replied. "They would have sought a solution together. Avon knew you would become hysterical and he could not endure that. Perhaps he wished to spare you the fear of death...but unfortunately you saw him coming with the gun.+

"Do you imagine Carnell doesn't fear death?" Vila asked.

+He has been trained to cope with stress. You have not. That is the difference, Vila.+

Quietly, Vila removed Orac's key.  _I suppose that's a proper answer,_  he told himself.  _Perhaps things can be as they were between us before._  A great weight of terror seemed to lift itself from him and fly away.

Of course he'd noted the anomaly in Orac's computation and accepted it. If there had to be a choice between Carnell's life and Avon's life, what would they have done? Vila had no doubt of the answer. He sat down and leaned his head against the back of the seat.  _Let's hope nothing goes wrong at this meeting with Blake,_  he thought,  _and then we can all be happy again._  After which, he promptly went to sleep for the rest of his watch and even Tarrant's violently expressed anger later did not worry him.

### CHAPTER TWO

When they finally came to Gauda Prime, Vila was feeling anxious again. Perhaps the whole thing was bound to be a disaster, he thought dismally as he waited with his companions - less the disturbingly missing Tarrant - outside the base which was supposed to belong to Blake. The landing had been indescribably awful. Avon would not discuss Tarrant's disappearance. Orac had been hidden somewhere and Avon would not discuss that either. Vila was scared to death and he knew Avon would not discuss that even if Vila pleaded...not that Vila was going to plead for Avon was grim and silent most of the time, or subdued and unhelpful when he did condescend to speak at all. Vila was filled with foreboding.

But perhaps Avon was anxious too. Vila had not thought about that before but he did now. Avon and Carnell had been plotting something yet Avon was not calm and relaxed as surely he should be if some clever plan were spinning along as it should. So what was wrong...why was Avon fretting? What, Vila wondered fearfully, was wrong on Gauda Prime?

Still, they were coming to find Blake and then everything would be all right - wouldn't it? Looking at Avon's withdrawn, bleak face, Vila wondered. Was it possible Blake would not welcome them, or that Avon did not wish to work with Blake? What had Carnell to do with Blake anyway?

Vila prayed, fervently and miserably, that some day he would be really safe, really happy. For far too long now, life had been almost perpetual terror. Could Blake free them from fear? Could Avon? Could anyone?  _Heaven help me,_  Vila thought.

 _We're desperate,_  he thought.  _We can't take nay more of this. Avon knows it even if the others don't..._  Vila began to believe that this day, at last, after all the dangers, he really was to die. He felt utterly helpless.

To Avon the choice was easier: his life or Blake's, unless Blake could convince him that Carnell was wrong. And then there would be Servalan, also waiting for him, also hungry for him. But what did she want...his body, or his death? That he could not know, could not guess, for although he suspected she loved him, he also knew she loved ambition more. Would she kill the man she loved if she felt that through his death she could regain the Presidency? Would she kill Avon if, in seeing Carnell, she believed that High Councillor Carnell would be of more use to her than a terrorist with a fearful price on his head? Suppose he died today...would Servalan and Carnell come together in their grief? How could he know? All he could do was get to Blake and go on from there, hoping he could choose the right way to safety and freedom from Blake's cloying Cause...or from Servalan's vengeance.

He came into the base wary and on edge. Anyone who got in his way would die, that he'd decided long before, because there was no knowing who were Blake's people and who were Servalan's spies. Blake would not like it, would be angered at the futile loss of life. But Blake was not to be in charge of Avon now. Avon would not give his freedom to Roj Blake, nor his affection, nor anything Blake desired. Avon was here to discover the truth, no more, and then go away if he could. There would be no more freedom fighting, none, no matter what Blake said.

He was surprised and relieved to find Tarrant along the way...but there was no time to discover how or why. He burst into what appeared to be a control room. There was a woman, possibly threatening. Avon killed her before she had time to interfere. Then there were sounds in a corridor and he looked up.

Blake.

 

"She's here." Del Grant spoke softly into the communicator on his wrist - a delicate pink bracelet. "One squad of troopers, so far. Undoubtedly there'll be more."

"Noted," came the reply. "Avon's flyer landed a few minutes ago. He's about to go into the base. Has Brodrik found Orac yet?"

"Yes. It's safe and he's bringing it along."

"Proceed as planned." Grant thumbed off his communicator. He stood up cautiously and waved his men forward. They were Federation troopers but with an unusual distinction on their helmets which denoted their senior status as Special Security operatives. They gathered around him. "You know what's required," he said. "You wait until they are holding Avon and then you enter. On no account do you go in before Avon is taken. Is that clear?"

There was a mutter of assent and he nodded approvingly. "Good." He looked at their commander. "Whatever happens, no shooting. Understood?"

"Certainly. But I cannot guarantee they won't shoot at us first."

"They won't need to as you are superior to them."

"If they're nervous after taking the terrorist, there could be an accident."

"It's up to you to ensure there is not," Grant replied. "Don't jump on them. Enter quietly. Take their commander quickly but without any fuss. Put your gun to his head. State you are removing him and his squad for Security reasons. Keep it low key and there'll be no trouble. All right?"

"All right."

The commander found it a little strange, being under the orders of a known anti-Federation mercenary, but there, you didn't argue with High Councillors, especially not with one as authoritative, as ruthless-looking as the severe, chill-eyed High Councillor who'd brought them to this damp dump of a planet. And you didn't argue if you'd been promised a massive bonus for catching a heap of high-priority terrorists and the most infamous President of recent years, Servalan herself. It'd be another flash on all their helmets, to coin a phrase, promotion for everyone, a holiday out of the bonus on the best pleasure planet going. You could put up with a mercenary if that led to such prizes, and there was no denying the mercenary was a real professional...

 

Carnell entered the base after Avon and his companions, following them warily. He heard a scuffle up ahead and then shooting, and hesitated a moment before turning a corner. Yes...bodies indeed. He went past them, then heard pounding feet approaching. He backed into a convenient corner, out of sight.

"We're under attack," a woman said.

"No," came the response, quite mildly. "It's Avon, here at last."

 _Blake,_  Carnell thought.

"Three of our people dead, and you want him to join us! How many more of us is he going to kill first?"

"We must find him," Blake said, "before he kills anyone else."

Their voices faded away up the corridor. Carnell emerged and carried on in the direction Avon had taken. He rounded a corner and found himself in a small workroom. He started to walk across the room.

"Well, well," Blake said, "I thought so... Do you take me for a fool, Carnell?"

 _Damn you, Blake!_  Carnell thought angrily.  _I am in no mood for a fraught discussion with you now._  There were surveillance mechanisms, he'd noticed some, but clearly he'd missed one and been seen. "No," he said, "and therefore you will forget about me... Avon is waiting for you."

"Yes," Blake said, "but since you are here too, do I have to assume it's just another of your sinister plots?"

"You knew Avon would come," Carnell said. "I did not need to persuade him."

"Very well - I knew he would come, and he is welcome. But you are not, Carnell." He looked at the girl and said, "Take him to the lock-up, Mariette. Be very careful. Don't be fooled by his charming smiles: he's a very dangerous, very evil Federation spy." Then he turned his back on them both and started to walk away.

"Wait!" Carnell exclaimed. It was an impulse, a sudden need to say something of the truth to this sad husk of a man who should have been President but for a bitter twist of fate.

Blake stopped and looked back. "Well?" He looked, Carnell thought, totally confident. The instability was severe, now.

"You may never succeed in your Cause," Carnell said, "but know that there are others who might."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blake asked icily. "Are you telling me you've had a change of heart - that you want to join my rebel band?"

"No," Carnell said, "but there are other ways."

"I know," Blake replied, "but I've been an outlaw too long. There's no other way for me."

"You will not succeed," Carnell said. "Stand aside for those who can."

"You mean yourself? I don't believe you. You're no altruist, Carnell."

"There are other ways," Carnell repeated, "and other motivations, but the end result can be the same. You don't have to trust me, nor like what I do, but I swear to you that if I have my way, the Federation will become more free. Remember that, at the moment when you most need to be comforted."

Blake stared at him for a moment longer, and then walked away.

"Someone going in, Sir," one of Grant's men said, pointing.

"That's Servalan. Remember how she looks."

"How could anyone forget...that, Sir!"

Grant laughed. "And don't forget she'll kill you if she has the chance. She doesn't want to return to Federation justice... Right, all her troopers seem to have gone in now. Follow quietly and be ready. We mustn't get this wrong. Our heads are on the line."

The troop commander did not doubt it. If High Councillor Carnell were thwarted, High Councillor Carnell would have them all court-martialled and executed, of that the troop commander was absolutely sure. "Nothing will go wrong," he said.

"Even if their weapons are not on stun..?"

"Even if their weapons are not on stun, Sir."

Carnell had calculated that Servalan's men would shoot only to stun the terrorists because she would be out for the price on their heads. Grant was inclined to agree with Carnell. Servalan was no fool - and she was greedy. She wouldn't pass up the prize money for nothing, and there was no need to kill anyone. But Avon was a special case, and Grant knew from Carnell's guarded remarks that it was possible Servalan would decide to kill Avon. "She'll do it herself if it is to happen at all," Carnell had said. "She won't allow her troopers that special pleasure."

"Avon's life...it's a fearful risk!""

"I know, but the risk has to be taken. Do you imagine I'm enjoying this?"

But Carnell was enjoying it, Grant thought, at least to a degree. He was enjoying the adventure and the challenge and the thought of the end to all his endeavours so close, just as Grant enjoyed stalking and seizing an enemy, even one so dangerous as Servalan... "Right," Grant said. "All Servalan's people are in. Now us...move!"

 

Avon stared across at Blake. Blake scarred, savage, his stare chilly, almost unwelcoming; Blake almost unrecognisable. Was this the charismatic leader Avon had come to find? How could this scarred wreck of a man take back the Cause Avon had upheld so unwillingly for so long? Behind him, Tarrant mouthed words of treachery and betrayal...

"Is it true? Have you betrayed me?"

"Avon..." Now the chill was gone from Blake's eyes. He was warm, loving...melting with love. Love and...what?

Avon shuddered. Love and hatred both. Yes, he saw it now as Carnell had suspected it long ago. Blake loved and dared not love. But Blake used people - all people. He was going to use Avon, as a martyr to the Cause. There could be no doubt of Blake's insanity.

Avon remembered how, so long ago, he had accused Blake of it on the prison ship London:  **'I thought you were probably insane.'**

 **'It's possible,'**  Blake had replied harshly.  **'They butchered my family and my friends...'**  He'd seemed mad, just for a moment, ready to use anyone to further his Cause. Avon had not known then of the conditioning in Blake's past which had changed him irrevocably, but knowing now did not help.

 _Trust,_  Blake thought.  _I can no longer trust...yet I must trust Avon or he will not stay with me. He must stay with me or my plans will falter. I must have a martyr to sustain me. There is no-one but Avon. Avon will die - willingly or not. I **will** succeed...I must. _"Avon...I was waiting for you."  _For you...oh, Avon! Love, Avon. We have to love one another now. I'm willing, Avon to love._   _Avon... No!_

He suffered agonisingly, unbelieving. And the pain and despair in Avon's eyes made it worse.  _He does not want to kill me,_ Blake thought, lucid at the last and beginning to understand.  _Why has he done this, then? Am I to be the martyr, not Avon? Is that the true purpose, the real victory?_

Avon was holding him. There was no hatred in Avon's eyes, only shock and pity.  _I don't want pity,_  Blake thought bitterly,  _I want love...your love, Avon._  He tried to say the words, but they would not come.  _Your love, Avon,_  Blake thought again. _You never loved me, not once. How can I bear that pain? You love only...him._  It was too much to bear. The end had come and he could not stand it. Avon had come too late...too late. The Federation was more chained than it had ever been...drugged near senseless, submerged in apathy.  _I achieved so little,_  Blake thought.  _I could not free them... I could not even win Avon's love. Failure._  Then dimly, at the last, Carnell's words came into his mind:  **'Remember...at the moment when you most need to be comforted...there are other ways.'**   _Perhaps..._  Blake thought, and then he died.

He slumped in Avon's arms and then Avon released him and he fell. Avon stood over him, protecting him, staring down at him. Was this what Carnell had expected? Was it really Carnell's plan, or merely chance, one of many possibilities? Avon was shaking with shock and grief.  _I did not want to kill you, Blake,_  he thought.  _I would have left you in peace with your Cause - if you had only allowed me my freedom. I could not be shackled to you, Blake...not to you. We could have been friends, but not tied together in a Cause I could no longer endure. Forgive me, Blake, if you can..._

Too late for regret: Blake was dead now. Avon sighed. It was over... He lifted his head as the troopers surrounded him, raised his gun and smiled. He heard only dimly the alarm siren insistently sounding. He had noticed nothing of the carnage around him, had no idea his companions lay apparently lifeless. He knew only that perhaps his death was now and it was not, never now, the moment he would have chosen. If Carnell was wrong, if the troopers were firing to kill, if Servalan took him before Carnell came, then he would die. He had found Carnell again perhaps only to lose him now, finally and for ever. Was this, this miserable, insignificant planet, to be the end, the last moment, death? He hoped only that he would see Carnell just once more before he fell, would look into Carnell's eyes with love as he died.

He heard shots and he fired in return, automatically. What else was there to do?

He felt strangely lightheaded. What did the troopers have in their weapons? Drugs? Would the drugs kill him or merely stun? He fought to keep on his feet.

"Avon..."

She had come, of course, and stood there before him: she was dazzling as ever and smiling at him almost affectionately. "Servalan," he said with an effort, trying to see her clearly through a haze that seemed to surround him.

"I'm going to kill you," she said. "Do you believe that? I've failed to many times, and occasionally I've even meant to fail - but not this time. Your friends are merely unconscious - I shall sell them for profit. But you... I can't quite bring myself to sell you, Avon, so I shall kill you. You should be grateful that I shall save you the trial and inevitable execution. Nonetheless, you deserve to die - for your many crimes, and for murdering your dear friend Blake. How can you justify murder, Avon?"

"How can you?" he asked her. "What's the difference, Servalan?"

"A considerable difference, Avon, for I am on the side of Law and Order, and you are not. Your death will be an accident, of course, a most unfortunate case of self-defence when you tried, with that gun you are still clutching, to kill me..."

He realised with vague surprise that he had forgotten the gun. He tried to raise it and aim, but it seemed ridiculously heavy. She laughed and signalled to a trooper who brought his own gun down savagely on Avon's hands. Avon gasped with pain, and the weapon dropped to the floor.

Servalan smiled and raised her gun. It was small, tucking neatly into her delicate hand; such a suitable weapon, he supposed dizzily, for such a woman...neat and deadly.

"Are you ready to die, Avon?" she asked him. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

 _It is now,_  Avon thought,  _now...and Carnell has not come._

_"Move," Mariette said to Carnell. "No tricks."_

Carnell could hardly avoid grinning at that, desperate though his situation was with Avon about to face Blake and one of them, perhaps both of them, surely about to die. "Tricks?" he said suavely. "Oh, I never play tricks..."

She gestured across the room impatiently with her gun and he started slowly to walk on, away from the way Blake had taken. He hoped the girl might be careless but she was wary, keeping back from him so that he could not turn on her.

Suddenly a klaxon started to sound.  _Red alert,_  he thought anxiously. So Servalan's people were in, and may well have reached Avon. He had, therefore, only one chance before the girl locked him up somewhere and left him.

Chance, which had trapped him, could also be kind. They were walking towards an open door to his left. As they reached it, he leaped sideways through the door. He heard the girl's footsteps pause for a moment and waited for her.  _Be quick,_  he thought. Mercifully, she was. He saw the barrel of her gun as she started to edge round the door jamb. He reached out and seized it.

The martial arts he'd learned in his training days had often been useful, and never more so than now. She could not afford to let go the gun and so was dragged in with it. He wrenched her bodily against him, then twisted the gun viciously. She was brave, and agile, and tried to resist, but he was too experienced for her. "Let it go, or I shall break both your arms," he hissed at her. She released the gun, then tried to trip him but he was ready for that and caught her arm in his free hand, forcing it behind her and then spinning her round. She cried out as her arm was nearly torn from its socket. Then he flung her away. She stumbled and fell. As she tried to rise, he shot her, using her own gun. He did not have time to notice whether it was set to kill or stun, for only Avon mattered now. Carnell flung aside the girl's gun, drew out his own, and ran.

Reaching where Blake had left him, he followed the way Blake had gone, praying that it would be easy. Two false routes frustrated him, but the third took him through troopers and with relief he saw Grant. "Where are they?" he demanded, and Grant, shocked that Carnell was not already with Avon, waved forwards and they ran on together with Grant's guards following. Grant burst into the control centre, Carnell at his heels.

Servalan was raising her gun. Carnell did not have time even to look at Avon. He aimed instinctively and fired, and Servalan screamed as the gun was jerked out of her hand; but he was not quite in time and Avon fell. Had she killed him? Fear in his heart, Carnell went to Avon.  _If you are dead,_  he thought savagely,  _I'll wring Servalan's neck here and now..._ Behind him, Grant's men flooded in. Grant seized hold of Servalan without much sympathy for her wounded hand.

 

Something made Avon look past Servalan as she made to fire, and then, through a red mist of dizziness, he saw Carnell at last, Carnell with a gun in his hand, his arm lifted to shoot, aiming at Servalan. Avon heard two shots together, gasped with pain as a charge hit his shoulder, and then fell, crashing to the ground with an agonising thud. He tried to say Carnell's name, but the word would not come. The room swam around him and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the room was steadier, and he saw Carnell kneeling by him, gazing at him. Then his vision blurred completely and he could not see anything at all. He felt Carnell's hand on his shoulder, touching the hurt gently, then Carnell moved him slightly, lifting him a little, and Carnell's soft, measured voice was saying his name.

"Avon, hold on... You aren't dead yet, my love."

"What was it...?" This time, he managed to speak.

"Some drug, I think. We'll trace it. Servalan's shot has wounded you, but not too severely. If the drug's not too powerful, you'll pull through."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I know enough of these things. If it hasn't killed you yet, there's a chance. It depends on the dose - I don't know how much you've had."

"I can't see you..."

"Obviously one of the effects of the drug. It'll probably pass, my dearest. Ah, here's the life support capsule - they are very prompt. They'll take you from me now but I'll be near all the time, be sure of that. Think of life, and our future together. Trust me, my dearest love."

"Yes," Avon said weakly as he was lifted away and moved into the capsule, "yes, I'll do that...Carnell."

Carnell watched as the life capsule was taken out and then looked around. Bodies all over the place, some presumably drugged, some presumably dead...and some quite obviously dead. Servalan's people had been gathered up and were being herded away. He looked at Servalan.

She was struggling in Grant's hold, resenting his fierce grip on her. "You are interfering with a Commissioner of Police's raid on a rebel stronghold," she said angrily to Carnell. "What are you thinking of, renegade?"

"Your information is a little dated," he replied coldly. "I am High Councillor Carnell of the Terran Federation, Director of the Institute for Psychostrategic Studies, and you are outranked, Commissioner Sleer...which position you hold quite illegally, by the way. Do you imagine I haven't found that out?" She struggled again and he laughed contemptuously. "You are interfering in my investigations on this planet. You have killed or severely injured rebels whom I wished to question. Your agent Arlen was here without the sanction of Central Security. All in all, Commissioner Sleer...ex-President Servalan...you have made a nuisance of yourself and you are under arrest. You will be taken to Earth and there you will face charges of treason, sedition, murder, extortion, perversion of the course of justice...and a few others which I shall take great pleasure in thinking up when I have the time. Do you want me to go on?"

"I repudiate all such charges," she said automatically, playing for time. "You won't hold me, Carnell." But she was uncertain, knowing only too well how clever he was, aware that she could not defy a High Councillor now without risking her neck - not his. She wondered if there was any chance that she could trick him...with flattery. "You wanted me once," she said softly, seductively. "Get me out of here - help me regain the Presidency - and I will make you my consort. We would be invincible together, Carnell..." She remembered vividly making a rather similar offer to Avon. It was...ironic.

He seemed to be considering the offer and he gazed at her thoughtfully with his dazzling blue eyes. The desire she had felt for him in the past surged in her again and she longed urgently to take him as she had taken him before - wildly, fiercely; to hold him and fight him and laugh with him, to scratch and bite. He had been so exciting a lover, so fierce yet passionately tender, so different to Avon who had been brutal and selfish, using her purely for his own satisfaction. Yet they both were utterly desirably, utterly exceptional.

"How could you trust me?" he asked, coming close to her. "My plan for you - so long ago - failed abysmally."

"An unfortunate error by my people - as you said. You could not be blamed for that." She fumed inwardly at having to crawl. One day she'd make him pay for this...one day.

He smiled at her very sweetly, then signalled to Grant to release her. He took hold of her, drawing her sensuously against him. "I don't see myself as your consort," he said softly. Perhaps I will take the Presidency for myself. Perhaps I will keep you. You are indeed very desirable."

She sighed a little, leaning against him. She did, after all, like him so very, very much. She sensed his arousal and parted her lips with desire. "It shall be as you wish...everything as you wish, Carnell." He was...utterly delicious. Like Avon. But she should not think of Avon, not now. Avon was probably dying. Avon was finished. "You are so clever," she murmured. "Skilful too - a most accurate shot. You didn't even hurt me that much."

"It's a little conceit of mine," he smiled, "so useful...if one is faced with an irate husband, or a past mistress in a temper. But I was in a hurry, this time. You were lucky not to lose your fingers."

She laughed lightly. "When are you going to make love to me?"

"I am a little - busy, at the moment. There's the matter of the carnage in here for a start."

"You could leave it to your lieutenant. I'm sure he can cope."

Carnell looked over her shoulder to Grant, who was staring at him in amazement and considerable annoyance. "What...?" Grant started to say, then caught the warning in Carnell's eyes and fell silent. Another trick, Grant thought, starting to smile. How annoyed Servalan was going to be.

"Of course," Carnell murmured, his mouth against Servalan's neck, caressing her, "there is a problem."

"A problem? Name it."

"It's the matter of your competency, my dear. Your staff scuppered my plan to kill Blake for you - as you have admitted just now. You should have seen the danger and killed the bondslave and the clone as soon as you had IMIPAK...then you might have won, even then. I'm afraid you are careless, Servalan - definitely not good enough for me. I may find you fairly desirable..."

"'Fairly...'," she exclaimed.

"...Fairly desirable," he continued coolly, raising his head to look into her eyes again, "but you are not likely to be an efficient consort, are you? On second thoughts, I'll find someone else."

"You...!" She wrenched herself away from him, falling back on Grant, who immediately seized hold of her again. She fought Grant savagely. "Let me go. Let me get at him. I'll kill him. I'll..."

"By all means try," Carnell remarked, "if you can get yourself out of this present little predicament." He looked past her to Grant. "Take care of her," he said. "I've warned you how dangerous she is. She's..." he remembered suddenly and quoted her, "...very plausible. She'll do everything she can to trick you."

"Don't worry," Grant said. "I'm immune to this type of woman - can't think what you and Avon see in her. I prefer them soft, sweet, and loving... Keep still, Commissioner. I don't want to hurt you, not even by accident. I'm not a sadist, you see, unlike some of your minions."

Carnell glanced around again at the havoc on the floor, gradually being dealt with by his people. Then he looked back at Servalan. "One last thing," he said, moving towards her again. "Tell me the name of the drug...the drug you've used on Avon and his friends."

"Find out!" she snarled viciously.

"Listen," he said, his voice icy now and making her shiver instinctively, "tell me now, or I'll torture it out of you. And believe me, Servalan, I shan't torture for pleasure: you won't have that kind of hold over me. I'll do it for results - quickly, efficiently, and with effective brutality. You know how it's done - you've ordered it many times. There are no gentle truth drugs here, Servalan, just my hands...and I am very much stronger than you. It will be very...physical. Talk now, or suffer."

"Cevelin 73," she said, shaking.

"Very well. What else do you know of it?"

"It's...psychedelic. They'll suffer fearful dreams, waking nightmares...but they'll get over it."

"Avon has probably had an excessive dose," Carnell said. "What will it do to him?"

"He may die. Perhaps your clever psychophysicians can save him, perhaps not. I'm no medic, Carnell, and no amount of torture will get anything else out of me, for there's no more I can tell you."

"I warn you," Carnell said, "if Avon dies, you will have murdered him. If he dies, therefore, I personally will break your pretty neck and no-one...no-one...can stop me. The Federation's laws favour the corrupt, as you well know. Remember that, and pray that Avon lives. High Councillors, Servalan, can be quite as ruthless as you." He laughed into her face, then turned his back on her. "Take her away," he said.

Grant dropped his gaze. He had been as startled as Servalan by Carnell's sudden savagery. He felt Servalan quivering against him and realised that she was absolutely terrified, that she certainly believed - as surely as Grant did himself, indeed - that if Carnell chose to kill her, then he would do so without compunction. "Come," Grant said to her, almost gently though remembering Carnell's warning that she'd take advantage of any sign of weakness, "we must go to the ship."

She started to walk towards the doorway, then hesitated as she passed Carnell. "You did want me once," she said. "Is there really nothing left of that...affection?"

"Ah," he replied, smiling at her but totally without humour for once, "that was before Avon came into my life. You see, he's even more beautiful than you, Servalan, and I do so love beautiful things." He saw the bitter anger return to her eyes, and his smile widened. "Sorry about that," he said. "You should have tried to kill me when you had the chance; but there, we all make mistakes, don't we?"

Behind her, Grant tensed in surprise. Just what...what...had Carnell meant, this time? Did this explain his anger a moment ago...and his obvious desperate anxiety? Well, no doubt it would become clear eventually. "Move," he said firmly to Servalan and this time she went before him obediently enough. He sensed that she was utterly dejected and, for the moment, at a loss to know what to do, which was fortunate for him as it would make her easier to handle on the way back to Carnell's ship.

Carnell waited until Grant and Servalan had departed with a couple of troopers, and then inspected the control room more closely. He shook his head over the mess, then looked over the people he recognised. Yes, all of Blake's people were dead, Arlen too...another young life wasted. Blake himself had been slaughtered quite savagely - however many shots had Avon used on him? Avon must have been half out of his mind with distress at the time to be so brutal.

He heard a groan, then a sluggish movement. He looked round and saw Vila raising his head warily. "Oh, Carnell," Vila said pathetically, "get me out of here, please..."

Carnell smiled wryly. He supposed he might have known Vila would not even be hurt. "Didn't I tell you once that you were marked for survival?" he enquired. "Still...stay here a little longer. I can't have you wandering loose in this place or it may be a case of shoot first and ask questions afterwards: anyone still at liberty here will be very nervous. Sit yourself somewhere and wait until I am ready to leave."

Vila staggered across to where the communications officer had been sitting before Avon shot her. He edged round her body which was slumped under the desk, and collapsed into the seat. "Are they all dead?" he asked anxiously.

"No, not all. Your friends are drugged. I'd assessed that Servalan would not kill you, merely have you all stunned...but she was obviously feeling particularly vicious and chose something more effective."

"Servalan said they'd suffer psychedelic dreams."

"Yes...waking dreams, waking nightmares: not very amusing." He shuddered inwardly, thinking what Avon, who must have received a particularly savage dose, was likely to suffer; or would his fate be worse - an overdose leading to agony and a lingering death after fearful, uncontrollable terror? "I suppose it's what she'd call a game," he remarked, calming himself firmly. "She's partial to games, unfortunately."

"Vicious games," Vila remarked. "Practical jokes."

"Yes," Carnell agreed grimly as the last of the unconscious victims was carried out, "practical jokes indeed. Very amusing, perhaps, to a sadist." He frowned. "Come with me, Vila. We have a very special victim of hers to attend to."

### CHAPTER THREE

+The intake of Cevelin-73 was 5.3 times the dose recommended for effective attack on a subject,+ Orac announced. +One could say he has had approximately 1.1 times a possible lethal dose. What is 'lethal' depends on the individual and such a dose would not necessarily lead to termination of life in Avon's case. However, Avon is not in prime physical condition. He has been overstressed for many months and now is injured. The two factors together put his life in great danger. He has only a fifty percent chance of recovery.+

Carnell and Sendava stared at one another and then down at the prone, silent figure on the medical couch. "Not very good, is it?" Sendava said.

"No." Carnell fought back an instinctive impulse to seize Avon and try to shake him back to consciousness.

"Avon's constitution is very strong apart from the stress factor," Sendava said. "Tests show that the wound is a nuisance, but not a disaster. Perhaps the chance is better than fifty percent."

 _After all,_  Carnell thought fiercely,  _Orac is only a machine..._ But still he was afraid. "The wound was unfortunate," he said. "If I'd reached him a little sooner, he need not have been attacked at all. Still...that's chance." His eyes darkened as he still stared down at Avon. "There's nothing I can do at present, is there?"

"Nothing. We just wait. I've administered everything necessary and he's stable, but he won't stay stable for long. I think there will be a change later today or during the night. That's when the real battle for his life will commence - once the drug really gets to work on his system."

"Call me if there is any change - anything at all." Much as he wanted to stay and stare at Avon, to will him back to health, Carnell knew there was no point in just standing there. Better to have some rest, if he could, and return when Avon would need him, later.

There was, of course, rest...and rest. There was not the slightest likelihood he would sleep until he was too exhausted to stay awake, and that would not be for hours yet. Servalan was incarcerated and Grant had charge of her. They were in Federation space and receiving priority clearance. There were no hostile or disruptive planets in reach, and the whole area between here and Earth would be well-patrolled. No likely dangers...no distractions, nothing to take his mind off the fear that Avon would die. He looked in on Avon's friends, found them silent and still as Avon was, left them and walked almost aimlessly... Then he thought of Vila. Not so long ago, he'd promised Vila some of his time. Well, he had time now and Vila's cheerful friendliness might be a mild antidote for fear.

Not that Vila was all that cheerful just now. "Is it what you intended, having Avon kill Blake?" he demanded after Carnell had given him the latest information on Avon's condition.

"It's what I believed might happen. I didn't specifically intend it, and don't imagine that everything is due to my manipulations - that would be impossible; but the event will serve a purpose."

"How can it? It was a tragedy."

"You saw Blake," Carnell said. "You saw the state he was in, and it was even worse than you could see... Did he look fit to lead a galaxy-wide revolution?"

"No," Vila agreed grudgingly. "He seemed...well...different to the Blake I'd known. I almost disliked him today, until the end when he was so upset. Then he was like Blake again, but weak - almost helpless."

"I did not see him die," Carnell said. "Tell me about it, Vila."

So Vila told him, in sorrowful detail. "I couldn't believe he was brought so low...begging Avon like that. It was, as I said, a tragedy. And Avon seemed distracted with grief. It was as though he expected to be betrayed, yet couldn't believe it had actually happened. What was wrong with Blake, Carnell?"

"The conditioning he'd suffered years ago on Earth could never be completely reversed, Vila. It seems he never knew that, and if Orac ever did and told him, he probably wouldn't have believed it anyway...but the medical data in the Security files is conclusive."

"So he was never normal?"

"Never, Vila, no matter how he seemed. Doing something useful, something practical and, if you like, grand and powerful, helped to submerge the conditioning, but there was always the degradation - insidious but ever-increasing. Day by day over the months he deteriorated, and as his mental problems became worse, he relied more and more on Avon. He was fond of Avon, perhaps too fond...it made Avon hate him for a while. And then he lost Avon. He'd come to depend on Avon, and then Avon was gone and seemed to make no effort to find him again. That must have been a bitter blow."

Carnell told Vila of the enforced parting, and his own role in it. "Surely you drove Blake into becoming what he was on Gauda Prime?" Vila accused him.

"I gave him the chance to show his worth, if he could, without Avon to support him. He could not rely on Avon always to be there for Avon could not stand it...and by then, Vila, frankly, nor could I. Blake had to learn to survive without Avon, for I also needed...need...Avon."

"He didn't succeed too well - I suppose that's what you are saying? It's one thing for an ordinary man to build up a force of rebel fighters, but Blake didn't see himself as an ordinary man. Why didn't he find a powerful ship? We found Scorpio, and the Star Drive. Why didn't Blake have success like that? Why did he stay on a dismal hole like Gauda Prime? Why didn't we hear about him? We were talked of all the time, by rebels and Federation alike. Is that what you mean - that Avon was cleverer than Blake?"

"Given Blake's degradation, certainly... If Blake had been himself, it would have been very different. Then they could have been on equal terms...but then Blake would not have needed Avon and they might have been friends. You never knew Blake as he was once, Vila. I've studied him and seen the old viscasts...I even saw him once, before the conditioning took place. Blake was formidable. It's no wonder Security adjusted his mind: it was on the express orders of the President, who saw the threat he posed."

"What did your Institute think of Blake?" Vila wondered suddenly. "Would they have supported him?"

"If he'd not been conditioned...perhaps, though my predecessor was not sympathetic to revolutionaries. But Blake committed the cardinal sin of being captured and then he was finished, so far as Gort was concerned."

Vila considered that carefully. "Gort might not have backed him, but you are different to Gort, aren't you? Would you have backed him?"

Carnell smiled. "It's too long ago, Vila, and so much has changed. I'm not going to answer that."

"Whatever Blake's problems, he was still marvellous, when we were with him," Vila said next. "Blake had all the vision and the drive. But I'm glad you didn't send me with him to Gauda Prime."

"So am I, Vila," Carnell said. "Come...tell me about Malodaar, or is that all forgotten now?"

"It's...resolved, I think. But I'll tell you all the same, if you'll listen. You like to hear about Avon, and I like to talk about him."

Carnell smiled faintly at that. "Yes... Avon might die tonight, Vila. I need distraction, problems to solve, thoughts to share. Keep on talking to me: I don't want time to think."

"Be strong," Vila said. "That's what you'd say to me, so now I can say it to you. Avon's surely the ultimate survivor - he won't die easily. Now, Malodaar. It all started when we had this extraordinary message..."

The evening passed, somehow. "How did you find Orac?" Vila demanded. "Avon hid him somewhere, I know, but..."

"It was easy. Avon gave me the precise location, and one of Grant's friends went to get it."

That led to Del Grant, and they talked about him and the time when Vila had seen him with his sister on Earth. "I liked him so much," Vila said. "I couldn't understand how they could be related, even then, and now I find it almost impossible to believe."

"Even brother and sister can be very different," Carnell commented. "It's just one of those things... He could have worked for Security...and she could have been a rebel. The mercenary instinct is there, and how it turns is chance."

"So much is chance," Vila said. "How can you unravel it?"

"One learns to compute chance," Carnell replied, "but it isn't easy."

It was late now.  _Perhaps,_  Carnell thought unenthusiastically,  _I should try and sleep._  But then the cabin communicator sounded, and he forgot all about sleep. "Avon is becoming restless," Sendava announced over the intercom. "I think you should be here."

"Let me come," Vila pleaded as Carnell got to his feet and went quickly to the door.

Carnell did not want him there, nor anyone else except Sendava, but he saw the desperate anxiety on Vila's face. "Very well," he said reluctantly, "if you really must..."

But later, he was grateful for Vila's quiet presence. Vila sat in the background at first and watched, and then, as Avon became frantic in the appalling dreams that began more and more to assail him, came and helped Carnell hold him and try to calm him.

"I dare not give him any more medicaments," Sendava said. "He's pumped full of drugs - Cevelin 73 is bad enough, but also possible antidotes, suppressants, heart stimulants, you name it... It's almost too much now. Cevelin-73's such a new drug -we've very little experience of its effects." He stared at Avon as he thrashed and muttered on the couch. "He's holding his own at the moment, but only just."

"How long will this last?" Vila asked.

"Days...many days. The drug's insidious - a very nasty choice, but typical of Servalan. She didn't want just to lay out her victims for a while, but to inflict agony on them, physical and mental. It's rather a pity, perhaps, that Avon is so notoriously strong. If he were expected to be weaker - like you, for example - the troopers would have been satisfied with releasing just one dose at him. As it is, they went on firing. I suppose they were still afraid of him even though he seemed to be at their mercy."

"It's his reputation," Vila said. "He usually thinks it sensible to appear invincible."

"This time it's worked against him. It can't be helped."

Vila looked at Carnell, who was talking quietly and calmly to Avon, following Sendava's advice that Avon might hear sometimes and relax briefly. "Carnell's strong too. How does he do it?"

"Training and temperament," Sendava replied. "He wouldn't be our Director otherwise. He has to appear invincible too."

"But it'll break him if Avon dies," Vila said. "Even Carnell won't be able to take that."

"Yes - but he'll carry on, just as Avon did when he believed Carnell dead. Such tragedies change us, but only the weakest give way completely under the sorrow of such loss... I'm glad you are here, Vila. No matter what happens, Carnell will need someone after this is over. The stress is fearful. He's trained to cope with stress but illness is wearing. It'll help if he has a friend to talk to afterwards."

"Avon never needed to talk," Vila remarked. "Or perhaps he did, but couldn't?"

"I imagine he couldn't, except to Carnell," Sendava replied, "and Carnell was not there. They are well suited to one another."

"So we can't allow Avon to die," Vila said. "I won't allow it! What else can I do to help?"

"Keep Carnell awake when he's needed. So long as he talks to Avon and Avon might hear, then Avon will fight. The terrors of his dreams will seem less overwhelming if he knows Carnell is with him."

"Carnell can't stay awake indefinitely."

"Stimulants will help, and he can rest when Avon is calmer. It's up to us, to share the vigils. Can I trust you, Vila, to stay awake whenever I have to sleep?"

Vila stared at him and then at Avon. "Yes," he said soberly, "you can trust me implicitly. I won't let them down...and I won't drink, either. Drinking makes me sleepy."

The days passed and the grim nights. Sendava and Vila hardly ever left the unit, Carnell never. Grant came when he could to help with the watching, the struggle to keep Avon aware. And Grant watched the relationship between his sister's lover and Carnell, and came to understand it. He was surprised at first, hostile even. It was not so much that he felt Avon should never find happiness again, merely that he had not expected such a love in Avon. He'd wondered if the love was only on Carnell's side, but as he listened to Avon's ramblings, his nightmares of fear and loss - loss of friends, loss of companions, loss of Carnell...distress and despair, anxieties he would never choose to tell to anyone...then Grant accepted what there was between these two.

"Do you find it unlikely?" Carnell asked once when he was trying to relax after a particular bad night. "Do you imagine it cannot be the same for him with me as it was with Anna? What do you know of our kind of love, Grant?"

"Only what I see in others," Grant replied. "Avon and Anna - they seemed so ideally suited. I never saw any...deviance...in Avon then."

"I never really saw any strong deviance in myself until I came to know Avon," Carnell replied flatly. "But there's something of both sexes in all of us. When do you decide what you are?"

"With your training," Grant said, "you must have suspected it."

"Certainly I suspected it. I didn't really expect to experience it. Don't imagine that I should psychoanalyse myself more efficiently than I psychoanalyse others: few analysts can be more than passably objective about themselves. But at least I could accept it when it happened, without reserve and without anxiety."

Grant grinned. "Avon must have been ferociously anxious: I can't imagine him accepting it easily!"

Carnell smiled. "He was - somewhat confused. Still, it's happened, and it's what we want now. Do you accept that?"

"I imagine I must," Grant replied, also smiling.

"There are other things you might have to accept," Carnell said. He felt very tired, yet almost past tiredness, disinclined to try to sleep. He knew it was a sign of severe exhaustion, exhaustion nearly to the point of breakdown. He ought to sleep, yet he could not. He wanted only to stare at Avon, to hold him as he still gripped the hot, restless hands now, and to talk...to talk to anyone about anything. "Your sister," he said. "What do you know of Anna's life after you left Earth the first time?"

"She was in Government Security," Grant said, "just a junior officer, at first. She didn't much like the work but she'd been assigned to Security so she put up with it. Then she married Chesku - mainly to get out of Security, I think, as he was rich and had influence. She certainly didn't love him. I felt sorry for Chesku - she led him one hell of a life."

"She betrayed him relentlessly with other men," Carnell said. "Do you think she would have betrayed Avon, in time?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. I thought at the time that she loved Avon wholeheartedly, but I've sometimes wondered since. How Chesku endured it all I can't imagine."

"You are a little cynical about your sister," Carnell remarked. "Perhaps you did not love her too much, at times, yourself."

"You know how it is with some brothers and sisters," Grant replied. "I always helped her and protected her if she really needed it, but usually I preferred to be somewhere else. We were never close...and she was always critical of my mercenary life. It wasn't until she took up with Avon that she appeared to appreciate my talents."

"You say your sister worked with Security," Carnell said. "As it happens, I investigated her because her relationship with Avon and Chesku was, in my opinion, anomalous. I've debated with myself whether you should hear the truth about Anna."

"What truth?" Grant demanded suspiciously. "What are you talking about, Carnell?"

"Your sister," Carnell said bluntly, "was not just a minor operative - she was a senior Security agent. She was assigned to Avon - just as she was assigned to other men, before him. She did not have lovers, Grant, not lovers as we understand lovers, but subjects for investigation. Avon was a subject for investigation. She lived with him because she was ordered to do so."

"Carnell..."

"She may have loved him," Carnell said. "We can't know - unless you are sure of it. But even so, she betrayed him to Central Security."

"No..."

"The records are there for you to see if you wish: all her reports. Only at the very end does she falter. I found a good deal of it long ago and my Institute has since found more. There is no doubt of her rôle in Avon's downfall..and in yours...no doubt at all. She did not report on you for you were not her subject and they were wise enough not to ask that of her, but your involvement was known and noted. She never tried to deny it."

"I can't believe this. Why are you saying it, even if it should be true? What use is there in telling me now?"

"You are starting to believe me, or you wouldn't even say that. I'm telling you because you will hear other...facts...from Avon's companions. I'm telling you because perhaps it is necessary for you to know the whole truth, not just what Avon's companions have gleaned or guessed from the little Avon or Vila will have told them. Vila knows much of it, and I know nearly everything now - except what Anna really felt."

"Anna's dead..."

"Yes, but not in Central Security's torture cells, Grant. She died something over a year ago in Servalan's palace on Earth, after she had herself murdered Chesku; and Avon killed her."

"Avon! No, Carnell..."  _And Chesku!_  he thought, horrified. It was not possible that Anna...or was it?

"Avon killed her," Carnell said relentlessly. "Now you see why you have to know the truth from me...before Avon blurts it out in his dreams and you feel you have to threaten him all over again. He killed her in self-defence, and he's never forgiven himself for it even though he knew by then what she was. It will not be easy for him when he sees you again: remember that and try to understand. It was never his wish to kill her, not even when he knew she'd betrayed him. It was his life or hers, and at such a time Avon acts instinctively - just as you and I do."

Grant shook his head, appalled and confused. "It's incredible. I hardly know what to think."

"It's life," Carnell said. "We can't always choose how we want it to be."

"You should try to sleep," Vila said to Carnell later.

"I can't. I've gone past proper sleep. All I can to is rest when I can and hope to lose consciousness now and again from sheer exhaustion. I don't suppose I shall sleep properly again until Avon is recovering or...or..."

"Or dead," Vila said flatly. He knew it had to be said, somehow. "But if you collapse, Avon will be worse off than he is now."

"I shall not collapse: I'm living on adrenalin and hope. Don't worry about me, Vila. I know what I'm doing."

"And what will happen when you do finally sleep?"

"I'll be ill for a few days, but it'll soon pass." He smiled wearily. "It can't be long now," he said. "We'll know well before we reach Earth."

"Earth's still a good distance away..."

"Avon can't go on like this much longer," Carnell said. "That's why I say we will soon know."

More days passed and they all began really to despair. Avon still fought his nightmares but he was so much weaker now, even his indomitable spirit wavering, and he was less able to resist the horrors which beset him. "It may be a disadvantage," Sendava said, "but perhaps he is suffering less and I suppose we can be grateful for that. The drug is transmuting gradually. We'll know the best, or worst, very soon now."

"All experience is useful," Carnell remarked grimly. "What we are learning now will be useful in the future. I just wish I hadn't been forced to discover it in such a traumatic fashion."

"At least you will be less likely to forget it," Sendava pointed out wisely. "Now, let us give Avon another check through Orac. It's time we saw some signs of change."

For better, or worse, Grant wondered. He could not, somehow, quite believe Avon was going to die, not after all the care they had given him, yet he looked so fearfully ill, now more than ever before. Grant reached out and touched Carnell's shoulder gently. "How invaluable Orac is."

"Invaluable indeed," Sendava agreed. "Without it, we would not have been able to do nearly so much for Avon... Now, Orac, what have you to say about Avon, today?"

There was a tense silence as Orac considered, and then it spoke. +I have to say,+ it responded, +that Avon's condition has improved markedly. The effect of Cevelin 73 is weakening at last. He will still need close attention but a relapse is now unlikely. Cevelin 73 is clearly transmuting within a set period of time to a harmless alkaloid which will eventually be removed entirely from his body by natural processes. You may assume that, if no further complications unconnected with Cevelin 73 occur, Avon will recover with his usual commendable speed - and become an irritable, difficult patient in about three days from now.+

Carnell and Grant looked at one another. Suddenly Carnell started to laugh. "Dare I believe it?" he demanded breathlessly. Then he buried his face in his hands and shook uncontrollably.

"Hysteria," Sendava said quietly, as he prepared a strong sedative, "brought on by the extreme exhaustion. It's predictable and will not last. He can rest properly now - it won't be an easy sleep at first but eventually he'll sleep deeply and well."

"Suppose Avon needs him in the meantime?" Vila queried anxiously.

+He will not,+ Orac stated. +He too will sleep reasonably normally at last. Indeed it is likely he will awaken before Carnell has recovered. One may conjecture that Avon will find that amusing.+

"May one indeed?" Grant muttered drily. "Tell me, Orac, do you think Avon has ever really heard much of what Carnell has said to him, all these past days and nights?"

+Very little specifically,+ Orac responded, +but he will have been aware of Carnell's presence and devotion, and that is what was necessary. He could not reason coherently, but will not have been alone in his nightmares.+

Grant thought of the nightmares. Avon had talked incoherently for the most part, but occasionally with a startling clarity. He had often seemed to think only of Carnell, anxious about their long separation, anxious about happier moments which he could not quite remember, demanding reassurance time and time again which only Carnell could give. And talking too, when they could make out the words, about Blake and Liberator and Anna. The references to Anna had always been confused and it was only after Grant learned the truth about his sister that he'd understood the distress Avon showed whenever he mentioned her name. And once, only two days ago, he'd heard Avon say quite distinctly,  **'I killed her,'**  and Carnell had replied,  **'Yes, but it was necessary. Remember that.'**

 ****It had hurt Grant to hear about her, but one day he would ask Carnell to tell him everything about Anna, could perhaps even see the Federation records. He felt he needed to know the truth, totally.

To Vila, the news of Avon's recovery was sheer delight. He'd understood so much more than Grant of Avon's delirious ravings, and accepted them without criticism or comment. Vila was, Grant had seen, the ideal bedside companion, and no doubt he'd continue to be so when Avon was well enough to start complaining about enforced rest. Grant could not imagine Avon accepting convalescence with anything other than irritating frustration even if, logically, he understood the need for it. Grant wondered if Carnell would be a bad patient too, but doubted it. Carnell had a so much more relaxed disposition.

Vila looked at Carnell, unconscious now on the couch next to Avon's, and beamed widely. At long last, things were really getting better.  _Maybe I'll be safe now,_  he thought hopefully.

Yanek appeared to keep an eye on Avon, and the rest of them left the medi-unit, all near-dizzy with relief and weariness. There was, Grant thought, as he sipped cocoa which he normally loathed but now welcomed as nectar, just time for Carnell and Avon to recover somewhat before they reached Earth and all the problems they were both going to have to face there.

Avon awoke slowly, drifting luxuriously from a pleasant and restful sleep into a lazy half-awareness. It all seemed too much trouble even to move or open his eyes, so he lay there for a long time not really thinking much at all. And then he remembered, and his eyes flashed open with shock.

First of all he saw a ceiling, then, lower, medical equipment. So it seemed he was still alive? That was, he supposed, predictable since he could remember vividly some very unpleasant...really quite terrible...dreams. Or had they been dreams? Had they been reality - a fearful, unbelievable, horrifying reality? He found that he was shaking and fought to calm himself. There was no point, he told himself fiercely, in stupidity. He supposed he was not dreaming now. Dreams were unreal...surely it had all been dreams? He must think sensibly.

So he thought immediately of Carnell, who had been with him through all the dreams or whatever they were, saving him from the death that seemed to beckon so relentlessly. A slight sound made him turn his head, and then he saw Carnell sprawled on a couch nearby and apparently fast asleep. Avon raised himself slightly to look. Carnell's face was hidden, but he was obviously breathing normally. Smiling in relief, Avon lay back and closed his eyes.

When he awoke again, Carnell was off the couch and sitting in an easy chair, reading something. As Avon stirred and looked at him, he came over to the medi-couch, smiling as always. "Well," he said, "with us again at last? Isn't that nice - my love!"

Avon stared at Carnell critically. "You look exhausted."

"That's no way to greet me... Still, you are right. Eleven days of looking after a nightmare-crazed terrorist would exhaust anyone, believe me."

"Eleven days...?"

"Fourteen days now. Eleven of dreams and three of decent sleep. It's a pity you couldn't consign to me some of your sleep and I'll give you a few of the wakeful hours. It's all very uneven."

"I suppose I'll find out what you are talking about eventually. Meantime, what have I missed?"

"Nothing that matters. Servalan having kittens in her cell and Grant ignoring her fumings in the most creditable fashion. I suppose I'll have to go and see her eventually - which will be boring as I threatened to break her neck, last time we spoke...and I told her I found her only passably attractive. She will not be welcoming, I suspect!"

Avon grinned. "You could let me see her. I always like seeing Servalan, even when she tries to kill me. Only passably attractive? Yes, she'd find that quite an insult... What else?"

"Your companions have recovered. In fact, Vila was never even hurt - as you might expect. I suppose he dropped strategically to the ground before the firing started. Vila has a good deal of common sense."

"He's also a fearful liability. How about the others?"

"Why are you always so offensive about Vila? He really is absolutely charming... The others are also fuming - Tarrant in one cell and the ladies in another; not with Servalan, of course, though it might solve a few problems if I let them fight it out together. Why didn't I think of that before?"

"You wouldn't do it," Avon said firmly. "Why are my companions locked up?"

"What else could I do with terrorists? Vila's free only because he's been useful -helping to look after you - and because he's wary of causing trouble except when he tries to lift things from my crew. He doesn't get caught at the time, but they always guess: it's his reputation. I've warned him that it'll give other would-be appropriators an ideal excuse to blame him for their own excesses, but he's quite incurable. I expect you know that already."

"Obviously, although he's never tried to steal from me."

"He wouldn't dare...would he?"

"What are you going to do with my companions?" Avon demanded. "I didn't go through this...this confrontation so that you could deliver them to Federation injustice."

"Would I?"

"You might." Avon shifted restlessly. "How long to I have to stay on this damn' couch?"

"Irritable already? Orac warned us you'd be an appalling nuisance once you woke up and I can see it will be proved absolutely right. Perhaps I should give you a shot of something to put you back to sleep?"

"You haven't answered the question."

"What question? Oh, very well... Strategy, my dearest, what else? You promised you'd trust me."

"Did I?" Then Avon nodded slightly, remembering. "I thought I was dying."

"Is that your only excuse for such weakness? Come now, my love, I thought it was heart-felt."

Avon sighed. "Ah, you know it was...and is. What strategy?"

"The strategy to obtain your freedom - what else? Don't worry: I have it all neatly planned."

"Your last neat plan nearly killed me."

"Only because of chance - I always remind you about chance. Blake got in my way, just for an instant. Next time should be different...though I never guarantee anything absolutely."

"I know," Avon murmured, grinning. "The small print."

"And you'd be just the pernickety kind of client who'd read it, wouldn't you?"

"'Always read the small print'," Avon said. "I was taught that in my cradle, or thereabouts."

"Very sensible... Why in heaven's name are we talking about contracts? Here you are, awake at last and coherent after two whole weeks. Why aren't we speaking sweetly of love and all its delights?"

"You speak of it," Avon suggested. "You do it so well. I'll listen and comment occasionally."

Carnell smiled at him tenderly. "Two weeks to make up, let alone all the tedious lost months before. How little time we have spent together, when you think about it. No more partings, my dearest...never again."

"And how will we stay together, High Councillor Carnell? I'm still an outlaw, remember."

"All will be arranged, you'll see. Meantime, we are talking of love so to hell with politics - for the moment. Love...passion, sensual pleasures...and more, later, when we reach Earth and you are stronger."

"I'm not so weak now," Avon remarked pointedly. "Well...not so very weak."

 

Avon was finally allowed off the medi-couch four days before they were to reach Earth. He staggered a little, felt decidedly weak, moved Carnell's helpful arm firmly aside and then managed to reach a nearby seat. "Dreadful," he muttered self-accusingly. "I can't be taken off the ship on a stretcher."

"You won't be. You can walk - if you insist - but not very far; just enough for appearances."

"I'll walk...all the way."

"And when you fall over, no doubt I shall the charming pleasure of picking you up? High Councillor lifts infamous terrorist off spaceport tarmac? Very newsworthy."

Avon looked disgusted. "I'll find a way... Tell me about Servalan."

"Why are you always so interested in Servalan?"

"You should know. You threw me at her, or so you tell me: your strategy, not mine."

"True... The meeting was trivial. She ranted. I reasoned with her - calmly, obdurately, and without any enthusiasm whatsoever. She has finally accepted that I will not help her. She's also accepted that she can't seduce Grant. She is very annoyed and plotting furiously... I don't want to talk about Servalan any more."

"Then talk of my companions."

"They're also furious. They don't seem to know what patience is."

"I'm not surprised," Avon retorted. "Anyone faced with your usual bland and smiling indifference would become annoyed. Haven't you told them anything?"

"It's better not. You know what I say about strategy and forewarnings. I want them happily - or unhappily - ignorant... Grant will escort our prisoners to Security Headquarters. Vila will come with us. We shall go to my home and...you can guess what we'll do. Afterwards we'll discuss strategy properly, thoroughly, and conclusively, with all the data you love at your fingertips, Orac pontificating, and I..."

"...You passing out the orders as usual," Avon supplied tartly. "You've been running rings round me for years now, Carnell. It's very disconcerting."

"But you understand my methods, you can see through the tricks. If you could improve your understanding of people and their motives, you could challenge me - but why bother? Could I challenge your expertise with hardware? So think what we can do together - more than Blake could ever have hoped and without having to risk our lives on futile gestures."

"Very well, I see that. But what's my role in all this? And are you sure I'll stand for it?"

"That," Carnell agreed, "remains to be seen. I predict - my Institute predicts - that unless there are changes, the Federation's structure will collapse within the next fifty years or so from the sheer dead-weight of drug-dulled billions...which is why I am scheming so busily. Gort helped to weaken the Federation still further by encouraging the excessive use of Pylene-50. You didn't know that, did you!"

"I certainly did not!" Avon exclaimed. "I can't see any purpose in that."

"You will. He was just helping the reforms along by seeking to brutally force Federation citizens - not just terrorists and other dissidents, my love, but ordinary, influential, loyal people - to see that Pylene-50 was not the antidote to all our problems; and Gort's plot has worked like a charm. Complaints about bad workmanship and lack of worker initiative flood into High Council from those still able to think, and most Councillors will soon agree that Pylene-50 will have to go. They'll probably find some other more innocuous replacement but it will be an improvement, whatever it is. The President will be on the run for sanctioning Pylene-50...and so he should as he's an undesirable megalomaniac. How would you like to be President, Avon?"

"I would not, as you well know. You could make Servalan President, I suppose. She'd love that...and I could stand in the background with a gun, threatening her every time she annoys you."

"A nice thought, but no. Servalan was an acceptable President before she wrecked her own career with that ridiculous underhand performance as Sleer. She'd have done better to return as herself and demand reinstatement. If I'd been there I'd have backed her...but now I can't. We can't have Presidents playing reckless games, can we? It's quite a shame as she must have been a very decorative President and High Council meetings must have been delightful - on those rare occasions when she had time to attend, in between bouts of chasing you."

"Perhaps she'd have done better to have stayed on Earth and ruled her Empire?"

"Of course she would, but she found you more seductive. Mind you, I can't blame her...but it was her downfall. Chasing handsome terrorists is a risky occupation, as I too have found. You can see why I want you with me - I can't spare the time to follow you around the galaxy... And the first task we will perform, the most vital and the most important, which will delight you exceedingly, will be to have Vila regraded."

"Regraded?" Avon echoed. "Whatever for? He's a typical Delta."

"Beta, I think," Carnell said, ignoring Avon's derogatory comment completely. "Alpha would be too daunting, and Gamma totally inadequate. He'll be very pleased with Beta."

"He'll be excessively favoured, that's for sure."

"Avon, Avon," Carnell exclaimed, "just let me have my own way for once. I like Vila, and I want to express my affection."

"'For once'? 'Always' is more like it. You must have been a thoroughly spoiled child."

"I admit it. But then, an only child usually is."

When the ship had landed on Earth, Avon managed to walk a short way, enough to satisfy his pride and avoid making a fool of himself. Carnell walked beside him, clearly expressing both his patronage and his allegiance. Vila walked behind, proud in his soon-to-be-confirmed Beta status. Onlookers stared, and those who recognised Avon muttered in amazement and curiosity. It was, Carnell felt, a very amusing arrival.

Servalan and Avon's other associates left the ship by the back hatch, with Grant and a host of Security guards in attendance. They were not amused at all.

### CHAPTER FOUR

"Friends...greetings and welcome." It was the standard introduction to any meeting of the High Council of the Terran Federation. The President was on his feet and launching into his obligatory opening speech. "You will know the reason for this Extraordinary Meeting of Council. You will be aware of my disquiet at recent events. However, for the sake of record, I detail the factors which we are to discuss today...

"There have been strange events on a planet at the edge of our Federation. A long-wanted terrorist has been killed in mysterious circumstances. Another terrorist - more dangerous and more notorious in spite of all our efforts to suppress information on his disgraceful activities, has been captured...yet he is not in custody. Instead, he is apparently under the protection of one of our number here." The President stared hard at Carnell, but Carnell did not respond. Carnell's gaze was fixed firmly on an uninteresting area of the table in front of him. He had no intention of looking at anyone - until it suited him.

After a moment, the President continued: "Another terrorist - less important but still a by-word for corruption - is also so favoured. True, three others are at Central Security, yet Central Security is not allowed to interrogate them...on the orders of this same High Councillor.

"On the credit side, however, our colleague has seized ex-President Servalan. One supposes that is something to be thankful for." The President could afford to be pleased since Servalan was safely shut away. If she had also been basking in High Councillor Carnell's protection, the President would have been very wary of what he said. No-one, he knew, could afford to risk Servalan's displeasure, since she was sure to get her own back...most like with a knife in the back.

However...there was this matter of the terrorists and various other odd goings-on. But for the fact that Carnell was a High Councillor and the prestigious Director of the prestigious Institute for Psychostrategic Studies, yet another devious schemer in a long line of devious schemers, he'd have long since been arrested along with his favoured terrorists... But the Institute and its Director were too important to treat so lightly. "High Councillor Carnell," the President said grimly, "explanations are required of you. You are charged with harbouring dangerous criminals and seeking to pervert the course of justice. What have you to say?"

The President sat down and waited. The other High Councillors turned to Carnell expectantly. There was a silence of the very deafening kind as Carnell rose slowly to his feet. At last he looked at the President, his stare level and proud and slightly intimidating, as always.

"Strategy," Carnell said coolly, "is a curious thing. All of you here know enough of strategy to enable you to seize a place on this Great Council, yet few of you understand sufficient of its intricacies to trace accurately its thread through history, let alone to predict its future necessary course. Psychostrategy is the ultimate refinement of logical prediction coupled with structured ambition and the future good of our society. Psychostrategy has destroyed a nuisance we can well do without - Roj Blake. Psychostrategy has neutralised some of the hysterical enthusiasm of his followers for the moment. Psychostrategy has brought back to us one of the finest minds any of us will ever encounter - Kerr Avon; and psychostrategy will persuade him to work for the Federation's might rather than for its downfall."

"Kerr Avon is a convicted embezzler and a wanted terrorist," a High Councillor exclaimed angrily. "He cannot possibly be seen to co-operate with us even if his mind is superb - which I grant you."

Carnell smiled calmly. "High Councillor Feldman is sceptical. I can't blame him for that. However, I will continue... Let me explain something of what my Institute has sought to accomplish. When Blake first took the Liberator and used it so effectively to harass the forces of Law and Order, High Council was understandably angered and sought to eliminate Blake and his ship; but Supreme Commander Servalan - as she was then - proved unable to catch him. He appeared invincible, to ordinary citizens. Word of his exploits got around in spite of all efforts to contain information. But I discovered that Blake was vulnerable and decided that his vulnerability would eventually destroy him; there was no need for Supreme Command to chase him.

"Blake disappeared. Kerr Avon took his place, but unwillingly. You find that surprising?" Carnell's cool gaze swept around High Council. "Consider his record. He is an exceptionally intelligent man. He is also avaricious. But there is nothing in his early record to suggest any passion for rebellion. Psychoanalysis demonstrates that he has never been interested in Blake's Cause, but he was caught up in it and went along with it because he had little choice. From the moment he joined forces, for whatever reason, with Blake in an attempt to seize the prison ship London, he was marked as a rebel sympathiser...and really, gentlemen, you can't be surprised that he tried to escape? Wouldn't you, rather than end up on Cygnus Alpha?" Carnell smiled suddenly, one of his nicest, warm smiles, and there was a murmur of agreement from the Councillors.

Carnell continued: "Later, Servalan pursued Avon instead of Blake, since Blake had disappeared and Avon held the figurehead of rebellion, the Liberator; and Avon was forced to respond. Avon is a hard man, a survivor. If you try to hit him, he will anticipate the blow and seek to destroy you first. If you fling your space fleet at him, he will retaliate. Well, my friends..." Carnell smiled again, "...so would I. Let us be sensible about this."

"That's a fair comment," someone said. "He was marked from the start, whether he liked it or not."

"You may be sure," Carnell continued, "that Avon had not intended to be tied to Blake. It was sheer chance he was caught up in Blake's schemes, and when Liberator was Blake's, Avon desired it. Can anyone blame him for that? I've been on the ship - it was amazing. I'd have liked to take it for myself, but you would not defy Avon and Blake carelessly. I studied Avon, and I realised he would be of more use as a friend than as an enemy. Hence...I made a friend of him."

There was a rustle of unease around the room. They had not, Carnell knew, expected that. "A friend," he repeated firmly. "An ally... He is too clever to dupe easily. I saw the possibility for a future strength and I took it. That is what psychostrategy is...opportunism combined with common sense."  _And a great deal of dishonest trickery,_  Carnell thought to himself, smiling inwardly, but he would not tell them that. Anyone intelligent enough to guess would see only too well the point of his arguments. He held out a carrot and it was in their interests to take it.

"There are some factors you do not yet know of the affair on Gauda Prime," Carnell said. "I mentioned that Blake would destroy himself, and so he did. Instability, induced by the personality restructuring performed on him during his first incarceration, eventually drove him to mistrust past friends. He sought to kill Avon, and Avon, alerted by his own intelligent understanding and my warnings, reacted predictably. Blake is dead - and Avon killed him."

This time, the rustle became exclamations of amazement. "It is true," Carnell said when the noise had died back a little. "There are witnesses: Servalan for one, agents of my own, Avon's associates including Restal. You may imagine that Restal will not betray his friend willingly but the information could be tortured out of him if required. Or perhaps he would not regard it as betrayal. Restal is also a - friend - of mine. He would tell you the truth, if you needed to hear it, because he trusts me."

"Is he wise to trust you?" a High Councillor asked. "Dare anyone trust a psychostrategist, Carnell? Psychostrategists are secretive. How can we know what you really intend?"

She was not one of Carnell's dependents on High Council. Carnell made a mental note to ensures her dependence, one way or the other and by blackmail if necessary, at the earliest opportunity. "High Councillor Pavian need never mistrust us," he said smoothly. "We work only for the future good - as is well known; and for profit, of course." He smiled broadly and there was an appreciative response from most of the High Councillors. They too liked money - in abundance - and Carnell knew it. It was part of his strategy to ensure that they got it: there were always ways of turning money towards those who had a good deal of it already. However, he firmly brought attention back to his main strategy. "Kerr Avon is a sensible man," he said. "Avon does not object to the Federation's aims, merely to certain of its practices. One of these is also causing my Institute great concern. It is the Federation's apparent aim to destroy its commercial base: what I'd call self-abuse, or a form of death wish."

"There is no question of such stupidity!" the President exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Our commercial base is superb..."

"It was, not so long ago. It is no longer superb, and unless changes are made - soon and effectively - alien powers will start to exceed us. You can imagine what that will mean, I'm sure."

They could. Most of them were businessmen, to some degree or another. Only the President, purely a military man, was confused. "What are you trying to say, Carnell?" he demanded angrily.

"I am trying to say," Carnell replied, "that you are failing us."

"How dare you...!" The rest of the President's furious response was lost in an uproar around the Council Table.

Carnell waited for the shouting to fade. He waited until there was absolute silence, until they realised that he would not speak against a din of voices. "High Council," Carnell said at last in his calm, deliberate voice which immediately held the attention of even the most angry amongst them, "is a place for discussion, my friends. I have posed a dilemma and you are understandably anxious. Now listen to my justification... Blake was an idealist, pure and simple. He had dreams, and the idea that if he kicked hard enough he'd make his point. But it didn't work, did it? He ended up mindwiped, and then a petty rebel on a petty planet, no trouble at all...except to us as a legend we could do without and to Avon who was saddled with Blake's past reputation and Blake's ship. Circumstances - mainly Servalan who chose to see Avon as Blake's successor and a thorough nuisance - forced him to fight back. But I ask you to analyse Avon's reactions. If you will look closely at his recent record, you will see that his efforts were directed mainly against the very matter which so worries my Institute - apathy. What apathy, you will ask?" He paused yet again and allowed his gaze to drift around the members of High Council. "What is the main cause of apathy in our society now?" he asked. "The answer's simple: Pylene-50."

"Pylene-50 is essential to control our vast Empire," the President said shortly. "Suppressants have been used for years, and remember, Carnell, your own predecessor, ex-Councillor Gort, encouraged the use of Pylene-50."

"That is true," Carnell confirmed, "but only in the short term, and especially to control anarchy following the Andromedan war. If you will consult more recent High Council Minutes, you will see that Gort has since attempted on numerous occasions to suggest lowering the levels of Pylene-50. Regrettably, his suggestions have been ignored."

The President stared at Carnell in surprise. "I don't recall him saying we should drop levels..."

"Look at the Minutes," Carnell repeated. "It's all there." And so it was: Gort had made sure of that, but had phrased his advice in such a way that the President had not normally understood it. But the businessmen on High Council would check, and they'd understand it, now that Carnell had prompted them to look for the evidence. It was not, after all, always politic to shout out a possible policy change at the top of your voice... "There's been too much delay," Carnell continued. "You are all aware of escalating problems in the commercial sector of the Federation, and the increasing, persistent competition we face from alien technology. Why, even my institute has to purchase alien technology and alien ships. Is that not an absolute disgrace?"

There were exclamations of amazement at that. Few High Councillors were aware of this fact, and no wonder, since the Institute had hardly publicised it; but it would be publicised now - ruthlessly. "How much better it would be," Carnell suggested suavely, "if we could again trust Federation equipment to...work adequately. My Institute has high standards and the Federation's commercial sector can no longer meet our standards."

Amazement became annoyance. "This is disgraceful," someone said. "Something must be done."

"Indeed it must," Carnell confirmed blithely. "We should start by lowering the levels of Pylene-50 - just as Avon wishes us to do. Some of you may have heard of an effort of his to counteract the effects of the drug. Let me tell you about it..."

He described briefly Avon's attempt to produce commercial quantities of an antidote to the drug. "The failure of the enterprise was solely due to the unauthorised and vindictive interference of a certain Commissioner Sleer. This Commissioner Sleer paid lip-service to her position...which I have recently discovered was falsely acquired by corruption. She did not regard Central Security as her superiors and simply pursued her own interests. This can be seen clearly at Central Security where they are at this moment updating her record following interrogation of a certain ex-President Servalan. Yes...Servalan is Sleer, and you can see immediately the implications of that!"

Indeed they could. "How is it that no-one connected Sleer with Servalan?" someone demanded angrily. "What are our Security forces doing with themselves?"

"Precious little," Carnell suggested nastily. "They are probably too busy playing with Pylene-50...or too lethargic from taking it...to notice trivia like vindictive ex-Presidents running around loose and killing off past acquaintances like flies. Yes, I am afraid we are discovering that Servalan has eliminated quite a number of prominent individuals - people who could have identified her. She has also indulged in a number of games...including chasing Kerr Avon for whom she has a personal fancy." This raised some sniggers and Carnell smiled broadly. He was thoroughly landing Servalan in it, but she'd have done the same to him, to Avon or to anyone else she chose to use. "So she wrecked Avon's deal with Zukan," Carnell said, "by blackmailing Zukan so ruthlessly that he was forced to betray Avon - nearly causing the deaths of Avon and his associates and certainly causing the death, accidentally, of his own beloved daughter and heir. Mind you, we should not be entirely ungrateful about that disaster. We don't really want rival organisations interfering in our affairs...but I have to point out that if Pylene-50 had been reduced, as my predecessor continually requested, there would have been no need for Avon's interference. But Avon is as concerned as I am for the future of the Federation. We wish it to continue. Why? For its future glory...and for profit, of course!"

There was a laugh at that. Only the President's face was still grim for he could not see anything interesting in profit. He was, Carnell had long ago deduced, more enthusiastic about spending money than making it, and none too concerned where the money came from...which would never do. It was high time the Federation had a President with a proper business sense. This President would have to go, and so he would...soon enough. By now, Carnell knew he had most of High Council on his side. He'd won the point about Pylene-50. He'd win Avon's pardon and pardons for his associates: that was only a matter of time, now. "Kerr Avon saw the danger Blake posed," Carnell said, wrenching greedy minds away from the beguiling matter of profit. "Avon has killed Blake, thus ridding us of him for good and all. Servalan went to Gauda Prime in the hope of seizing them both for her own ends, and is now our captive...and about time, I must say. Once Pylene-50 is reduced - openly reduced following extensive propaganda heralding the reduction - rebellious mutterings will fade for a while. Of course they'll return - you can't hold back those who enjoy being rebels - but we will be able to face those problems all the better if our people are alert...and with a little help, naturally, from my Institute's forecasts."

There was another general laugh. Carnell had such a pleasant, forthcoming style, was such a charming and interesting speaker, fluent and self-assured. He was clearly, they were all thinking now, an excellent asset to High Council. And his Institute was an undoubted benefit - always had been.

High Councillor Feldman looked at the President. "I move that we reduce the level of Pylene-50 immediately," he said. Someone seconded the motion instantly and Feldman beamed in satisfaction. "There's no doubt my business interests are suffering from worker apathy," he said, helping the decision along for the sake of any who might conceivably still doubt the wisdom of such a motion. "People don't work if they are half-asleep. All they want to do is loll about - and when you prod them, they moan but they still don't do much. I won't say the situation's disastrous, not by any means, but it's certainly worrying. It's bothered me for quite a while..." Which it had, indirectly, but he'd not thought deeply about it. Carnell's prompting was having exactly the effect Carnell had calculated, and his mild use of melodrama had instilled a further sense of unease. Having analysed every one of his associates on High Council, Carnell had no difficulty manipulating them, simply because most of them were ambitious, ruthless, and very fond of money. It was always wise to use their self-interest to win an argument. The motion was carried, unanimously.

The President realised suddenly that he was becoming isolated. He might like to fight...but some battles were foolish, and even he could see now that avarice was going to take precedence over military warfare since there were not, at present, any threatening wars to fight. He decided on a strategic sidestep. "You are seeking a pardon for the terrorist, I take it?" he said to Carnell.

"Obviously. He's co-operated with me for so long that he can no more be regarded as a terrorist than...you yourself."

The President frowned at that, but Carnell seemed perfectly serious so he did not protest. In any case, he had an uneasy suspicion that any protest of his would be met with amusement - against him - from his High council. "Very well," he said, "we'll put it to the vote."

"For Avon, and for all his associates," Carnell said insistently. "Vila Restal, Del Tarrant, Dayna Mellanby, Soo-Lin. They are all thought to have committed what are technically major crimes, but these crimes have been to a great degree in the interests of the Federation's future success, even if they were not - I admit - probably always too concerned about that." He smiled broadly again, including everyone in a light-hearted conspiracy of a rebellion which had been infuriating but not really vindictive towards anyone on High Council personally. "So many of their problems were caused by Blake's personal vendetta against us on the one side and Servalan's personal vendetta against Kerr Avon on the other; not to mention Servalan's wish to seize Liberator and keep it for herself. Do you realise, my friends, that she thought to replicate Liberator and build herself a vast war fleet? Do you realise she could have killed Blake and all his compatriots long ago, if she had not wanted Liberator more than their elimination? Well, it's true and I can prove it, over and over again. I have evidence in Federation records, in Institute records which I can show you relating to Servalan's attempts to force me personally to take Liberator secretly for her, and in the words of Avon, Restal and the others, for Servalan has said as much to them on more than one occasion. All her strategies point to seizing Liberator, proving that before she was President she was insubordinate...since she was expressly ordered by High Council to kill Blake...and while she was President she was irresponsible... A free pardon, my friends, for all of them. It is the least we can do."

Carnell wanted, frantically, to laugh. It had all been so amusing, so predictable really. Poor Servalan - she would never forgive him; or perhaps she might. She tended willingly enough to forgive Avon, no matter what he did, and Carnell was not so very different to Avon. Still, it was irrelevant. He smiled in satisfaction as the motion, backed by his personal coterie on High Council, was passed without serous argument. "We'll have to be careful how this is publicised," he remarked. "Propaganda has been savage towards these rebels." But it was not a serious problem, and someone would see it was done properly.

"What do you intend to do with Avon now?" Carnell was asked when the meeting was technically closed.

"With his intelligence he'll be invaluable," Carnell replied noncommittally, "but he's also free... We should not force him. Remember, Blake tried that, and see where it got him...and where it got us, faced with a frustrated genius out to cause us as much trouble as possible."

All High Councillors were intelligent too. They did not reach High Council for nothing. And they could be manipulated only to a degree. Whatever manipulations Carnell had used, his arguments were demonstrably sound and his concentration on profit sensible...for even wars could not be fought without money.

As for Servalan, she was clever too. Perhaps they'd find a use for her, perhaps not. If they let her out of jail, they'd have to ensure she did not embark on another round of murdering anyone who got in her way. No doubt Carnell and his people would find some strategy to prevent that... They were very crafty, these psychostrategists, very crafty indeed; but useful. It was always sensible to keep them on your side.

 

"So you see," Carnell said later to Avon when it had all been explained from start to finish, "everything has worked out very nicely - so far. You're free, my love, to do as you please, although it's to be hoped what you please is of some use to my continuing strategies, if only to keep High Council happy for a while to come yet. Servalan will be held, sentenced, dealt with. A useful niche may arise for her. If not, they'll probably have her executed. Your friends will be set free very soon - after we have shipped them well away from Earth and warned them to keep out of Earth politics in future. Grant has made himself a fortune, Vila too, since I've paid them handsomely for their help."

"No-one's paid me anything," Avon remarked. "I don't think much of that."

Carnell beamed at him. "You're clever enough to find your own fortune, aren't you?"

"True," Avon agreed. "I'll steal yours. It shouldn't be difficult."

"Ah, well...pardons can always be revoked. What kind of execution would you prefer? Naturally I'd allow you to choose, as a last favour."

"On second thoughts, I'll find the fortune elsewhere... No, I don't really know what I want to do. I haven't had time yet to consider all the options. But I suppose you have your next strategy lined up ready to go?"

"Of course I have, and it's already operating. What do you think I was doing, all those miserable months in Sorv?"

"Holding Maryk's hand?"

"Now then... He only needed me to supervise, most of the time. As for now, Pylene-50 isn't the only scourge we have to contend with. There's also that nasty substitute for Shadow that the Terra Nostra have come up with..."

"Are you telling me that you are going to defy the Terra Nostra?" Avon demanded. "You'll end up dead in no time."

"I don't defy people, Avon. I merely - er - manipulate them a little... My Institute does not like the new drug. Shadow was always a nuisance but it was too expensive to cause much damage to the economy. The new drug promises worse...and we don't want to be rid of Pylene-50 only to find the Terra Nostra peddling vast, cheap quantities of something similar."

"Surely," Avon said, "the Terra Nostra won't be out to destroy its own market by killing off the clientèle?"

"Hardly, but they could cause a lot of trouble with it."

"The Terra Nostra used to be run by Servalan's predecessor."

"I know. Servalan put a stop to that - one of her prime successes - but they are always ingenious. It will do no harm to investigate them...warily."

Carnell talked on and Avon listened. Safe future? It didn't sound like it, but it should at least be interesting.

"Think what we can do together, with our complementary talents," Carnell was exclaiming. "We can take the Federation, Avon, and turn it inside out!" Smiling as always, he seized Avon's hands and held them to his heart. "You and I, my dearest love," he said, "together."

 **Together.**   **All that I do...**  "Yes," Avon said quietly, "you and I..." and smiled also.

 

NOT THE END, YOU MAY BE SURE...BUT THE END OF THIS ADVENTURE


End file.
